Hardy as zinnias, persistent as the thing with feathers: Rediscovering poetry in divided times

Last week, I found myself browsing the poetry shelves of a public library, a good place to be in difficult and divided times.

While there, I picked up and checked out three books.

The first was a 770-page complete collection of Emily Dickinson’s poems, published nearly 70 years ago. It includes 1,775 poems she wrote, most of which I had never read. However, I did open the book to page 116, to poem no. 254, which opens with one of my favorite stanzas ever:

"Hope" is the thing with feathers —

That perches in the soul —

And sings the tune without the words —

And never stops — at all —

The second book I brought home with me was at least connected to my library mission, which was to track down a particular quote by Robert Hayden, who served the role of our nation's Poet Laureate from 197