I was asked to chose an Emily Dickinson poem to read – no
pressure, only 1775 to choose from. I looked again at the ones I remember Becky
and I reading aloud to each other when we were trying to write a play about
Emily Dickinson between about 1986 and 1988. I finally chose this one, ‘We grow
accustomed to the Dark –’ because it seems to me to speak to our condition, as
the Quakers say, and because there’s a line about two-thirds of the way through
about an encounter with a tree that made Becky laugh out loud.
We grow accustomed to
the Dark - When light is put away - As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp To witness her Goodbye -
A Moment - We uncertain step For newness of the night - Then - fit our Vision to the Dark - And meet the Road - erect -
And so of larger - Darknesses - Those Evenings of the Brain - When not a Moon disclose a sign - Or Star - come out - within -
The Bravest - grope a little - And sometimes hit a Tree Directly in the Forehead - But as they learn to see -
Either the Darkness alters - Or something in the sight Adjusts itself to Midnight - And Life steps almost straight.