Why "Chasing Emily" For My First Book Title

Titles are usually the last thing I come up with upon completing a poem. It was no different with this book. Several ideas came to mind, however I kept coming back to Chasing Emily.
I had written a poem entitled Chasing Emily Dickinson Through the Snow. Which is included in the book. That particular poem is one that kept haunting me to finish for several months. It's a metaphor poem about the influence Emily Dickinson has had on me as a writer and poet. The italic lines in the poem are from Emily's work and fans of Emily Dickinson will certainly recognize the 'Emilyisms' in the poem. Emily comes to me often and I want to thank her for allowing me to collaborate with her.
Chasing Emily is, in a way, what I've been doing my whole life. I in no way compare my writing to that of Emily. But I write, in part, because of her.
So with that said, as a poet and writer, I'll keep Chasing Emily...

I know I said I wasn't here to post my poems, but in this case I'll make an exception. You'll find the poem below.

*One note, I don't usually write in rhyme. But this is one of those rare exceptions.

Hope you like it.


Chasing Emily Dickinson Through the Snow

My mistress is the fragile recluse
running barefoot through the snow,
in a gown and field of white
where roses would not dare to go.

Wherever runs the breathless sun
how far the village lies,
how soft the wind that blew her hair
beneath the Amherst skies.

I’ve tasted of the liquor brewed
of so eloquent she told,
I’ve felt a funeral in my brain
and know of buried gold.

She taught me how the sun rose
I felt like I was there,
she spoke to me of flies that buzz
of death and of despair.

Too late I came to find her gone, and
because she could not stop for death,
out into the cold she ran,
fleeing love and out of breath.

Within my grasp so desperately
I measure every grief I meet,
step lightly on this narrow spot
with footprints of my lover’s feet.

I would not stop for night, or storm
or frost or death, or anyone,
until I hoped to find her safe
beneath the Amherst morning sun.

Yet before the night was over
I knew without a doubt,
the flame that was my Emily
grew weak and flickered out.

A curious cloud surprised the sky.
What spirit lifted there above?
She went as quiet as the dew,
it was then I knew I’d lost my love.

Love can do all but raise the dead,
The immortality she gave ~
She died for beauty, but was scarce,
and now I weep ~ beside her grave.


~J