Postcard verso:

Dear Emily,

Your poems make me smile.

Thank you for writing a soft
sea washed around the
house.
                      Love,
                      Aro   CT    age: 7

Postcard verso:

This is my letter to the Belle
Who never thought of Me —
The haunting Words that She
wrote down —
With tender Majesty

Her Message has transmitted
Across the Centuries —
For love of You — gentle Poet
Accept this thanks — from Me
                              -Kellie B.
                               Kansas City, MO

Postcard verso:

Dear Emily —
     Thank you for the
words that creep —
     That sleep —
         unfurl — then
                  fly —
To live —
           and live —
And never die.

Happy Birthday from
                              SARAH T*
#PostcardsToEmily #TheWorldWritesBack

Postcard verso:

                                                 3 December 2019
Daisy – When you wrote We both and neither prove
I was displaced –

                Between null and void,
                As if we had never been within

                This ellipsis: first and final things –
                Name, use – change, lose – 

                If anything were – given – a way there
                Is – equal if opposite – difference

                Is what is not – the two coeval come
                Become noun, brittle accretion – 

And although one atom precipitates, and one dissolves –
instantly – I remain
                                        Your reader,
                                                                   G. Darms

Postcard verso:

December 3rd, 2019

For Emily –
She is / dark but honest /
like center of sunflower /
with earl greys and
marbles / latticed and
severed / her circumference /
a suggestion – / takes
the shape / of secret
saturn / she dizzies / 
tumbles / the abyss of
                   a lantern

                Love, Madison
                           Sunsdahl 

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                      A PROTECTION OF PALMS

Centuries hold hands. Best to believe Miss Dickinson,
in her wish to work alone, but now she’s here—
my handwriting not too different from hers, our urge
to take dictation not dissimilar. Not a quaint thing—
a soul, nor out of date, that shared imagining,
holding of hands, hers so much smaller than mine,
but her palm so much stronger, the bones themselves,
as though God talked clearly then, a waterfall purely
falling. Friends were her words. I listen for mine.

                                                        —Christine Colasurdo

Postcard verso:

snow     falls from t trees
tops. I know love lives here,
through the winter shimmer
joy comes to me

By Jubilee, Anthes

     age 7 <3

Postcard front:

I know a thing or two about Emily
the poet who hand-bound botany books
in her free time.
Someone once told me
she filled her room with poems
including piling them under the floor boards.
I see the drawer I have filled
and wonder
If I need her solitude
to write as much as she.

She is the lover
to many poets like me
I could not tell you what makes our affair
any different.
But I could tell you I called her
my only teacher,
refused to read verses by any other,
kept a list of all the ways
I could be just like her.

-Georganna Poindexter
“A letter to Emily” excerpt

Postcard verso:

Dearest Emily,

     Happy birthday!
Thank you for all you
brought to the world
and for inspiring more
than you would ever
imagine –

     Love from
              Westchester, NY!

Postcard verso:

Dear Emily Dickinson,

Thank you for all you
did. You inspired so many
people across different
countries, different lives…
even if you weren’t around
to see it. Happy Birthday!

Sincerely,
      Connor Coles

Postcard verso:

Dearest Emily,

You are the reason I became a poet. I too,
have Ménière’s disease and migraines, and can’t stand
patterns…hence, I get the white dress. I too, treasure
the sacredness of solitude. I’ve memorized poems;
the first “I HAD A GUINEA GOLDEN.”

I want say, you can love a woman openly
w/ your words and body.

I wish I could be there for the celebration;
I’ll make to Amherst soon.
Perhaps this spring. We can write
by candlelight and you can teach me
to bake ginger cake.

Happiest of Birthdays!
With Love,
Ava C. Cipri