Writings by Susan Dickinson

close-up | previous page | next page | note | essay index | search | main index

H bMS Am 1118.95, Box 9


the pillow and hovered about the bed - the air
was Summer - the consciousness of perfect
gentle deliverance[?] filled my being -
No School can reproduce that! Then
came nurses, but only monthly nurses;
occasionally a man who from every
absurd antipodal trait physical and
mental was considered himself qualified
to eke out a faintly fluctuating income
by sitting about a sick room. One such
looms up like a sharp silhouette in the
horizon. He was born[?] tall + gaunt - his
[?] [?] like a Shanghai Cock
when he straightens to crow - his clothes were
puzzling and irritating. Nothing came
together or met; When he rose up or
moved this trait became sharper in effect
so that the patient if half alive could but
vary a good deal till he was back in his
comfortable arm-chair. Why he was a nurse
I cannot imagine as he had no more fitness
for a sick-room than a respectable scare-
crow - When asked what he would like in
the night hours to brace[?] his megatherium of

close-up | previous page | next page | note | essay index | search | main index

Writings by Susan Dickinson Main Page
Image reproduced by permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University.
Not to be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
Transcription and commentary copyright 1998 by Martha Nell Smith,
Laura Elyn Lauth, and Lara Vetter, all rights reserved
Maintained by Rebecca Mooney  <rnmooney@umd.edu>
Last updated on January 24, 2008

Dickinson Electronic Archives