WHEN roses cease to bloom, dear,
And violets are done,
When bumble-bees in solemn flight
Have passed beyond the sun,The hand that paused to gather
Emily Dickinson
Upon this summer’s day
Will idle lie, in Auburn–
Then take my flower, pray!
Both of my grandmothers were prolific gardeners, and so, apparently, was my great aunt Ruth. She died either the day before or after I was born–I’ve always loved that, and can never remember which is true–and my parents bought her house and we moved in when I was 2. She planted camellias absolutely everywhere, and they’re still there, bright hot pink lights in the winter.
My maternal grandmother, Maw-Maw, I remember more for her vegetable garden, but her blueberry bushes and peach trees are fresh in my mind (and in my tastebuds). My paternal grandmother, Grannie, had the most lovely red spider lilies outside her front window.
Maybe that’s why I don’t read this poem and immediately imagine it written to a lover. I think about the gardeners who lived before me, who planted things I still get to see, and I think about my daylilies in the front yard and the Felicia rose in the backyard that will, hopefully, live for a very long time. I hope that they’re still going after I’m gone.
When roses cease to bloom and bumblebees have flown beyond the sun–there must still be some flowers to gather, so I can’t think that Dickinson is imagining the end of the world. She’s still lying in repose, after all. Auburn, I’m supposing, is the city in Massachusetts, about an hour’s drive from Amherst. In typical Dickinson fashion, she’s telling us to take the flowers from her grave, I think. And I think my grandmothers would approve.
The Emily Project 