Inspired by Emily Dickinson's "I Started Early- Took my Dog" (656)

I have always found Dickinson’s poem # 656 mysterious, playful, imaginative, and eerie. There are "mermaids in the basement" and "frigates in the upper floor". I wonder if it's based on a dream or reverie, if it reflects a fear of or desire for being swallowed up by the sea. In the 3rd stanza, the tide goes past the narrator's shoe, belt, and bodice, and "made as he would eat me up". In this moment, she doesn't seem afraid; rather, she seems in control and amused. In the end, "the sea withdrew"; this seems a sign that the narrator can continue a walk along the sea.

The poem also made me wonder if Dickinson had a dog, and a quick Internet investigation led me to Carlo; he was given to her by her father and was her constant companion on long walks through the woods.

Here is her poem, followed by my own version.

I STARTED early, took my dog,
And visited the sea;
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me,
And frigates in the upper floor
Extended hempen hands,
Presuming me to be a mouse
Aground, upon the sands.
But no man moved me till the tide
Went past my simple shoe,
And past my apron and my belt,
And past my bodice too,
And made as he would eat me up
As wholly as a dew
Upon a dandelion’s sleeve—
And then I started too.
And he—he followed close behind;
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle,—then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl.
Until we met the solid town,
No man he seemed to know;
And bowing with a mighty look
At me, the sea withdrew.

"I Started Strong - But My Dog Took Me" by Denise Galang

The belly side of an empty horseshoe crab

a black orb, puddled with saltwater,

its blade the length of a limb.

It sends Sirius, the leash, my arm  

across the silty sand.

Her front legs steering me

away from the Lower Bay.

She makes deep imprints with her paws.

I try to sink my soles deeper

use the strength of my quads,

pull her with both hands

as if pulling on reins of a horse.

She is forging a new path now.

Her wet nose follows prints of trident toes

left by mobs of seagulls that populate the beach.

Sirius licks their fresh excretions,

her palate flooded with flavor

of sea, fish, brine, and local,

unknown food sources.  

My pleas of “heal” are hopeless,

her harness like an invisible thread.

I cease calling/yelling her name,

save the lamb liver treats in my hand for later,

allow myself to be submerged

in October summer,

the shore’s ujjayi breathing.