27 January 2022

Andreae Callanan
Andreae, a white woman with glasses and long salt-and-pepper hair, sits on the floor with her back against a white-painted fireplace surround. She is peering through a veil of spider plant babies that are hanging from the mantel above. Her left hand is raised above her head as though she is pushing vines away from her face. She is wearing a grey sweater. In the background: an orange-red upholstered rocking chair with a deep woven slate-and-white coloured basket sitting on it and a blue crocheted afghan draped over its back; a tall white wooden bookshelf filled with poetry collections; a white-painted French door open against a goldenrod-coloured wall.
Andreae, a white woman with glasses and long salt-and-pepper hair, sits on the floor with her back against a white-painted fireplace surround. She is peering through a veil of spider plant babies that are hanging from the mantel above. Her left hand is raised above her head as though she is pushing vines away from her face. She is wearing a grey sweater. In the background: an orange-red upholstered rocking chair with a deep woven slate-and-white coloured basket sitting on it and a blue crocheted afghan draped over its back; a tall white wooden bookshelf filled with poetry collections; a white-painted French door open against a goldenrod-coloured wall.

Today: trying to puzzle out the relationship between the Emily Dickinson who wrote hilarious satire for The Indicator and the Emily Dickinson who wrote to Thomas Wentworth Higginson to ask him if her poems breathed. The more I think about it, the less I’m able to distinguish between the two. Which begs the question: what if, when Dickinson wrote to Higginson, she was just taking the piss?