Remarks for Sigma Kappa Delta's Tribute to Volunteers at the Local Hospital

To be delivered 4/24/2026

Hi everyone --

I'm Dr. Karra. I work at Odessa College and am privileged to work with the other members of Sigma Kappa Delta, our English Honor Society. I know what you're thinking: Greek letters feel like a lot. There's got to be a fraternity or sorority or obscure academic honor only former Secretaries of State know about. I assure you we are not like that. As soon as our members heard there was an opportunity to celebrate y'all and create a coffeehouse vibe--I don't know if you know the meme, but it goes "you receive: nice words, we receive: an audience"–we were excited. I'm not kidding. All of them--and there are so many more who couldn't make it here--leap at the opportunity to create positivity on campus, volunteer their time, get resources to those in need, and cultivate literacy. I'll grant it puzzled me for a little bit why an English Honor Society is so eager to serve, and then it hit me. When you're serious about the words, when you know what you're talking about, you know what difference has to be made. It's really that simple.

Before I let them introduce themselves and take over the stage, I'd like to get the coffeehouse atmosphere, the "vibe" if you will, going. And I think--please humor me here–a good way to start that is by sharing a poem. A poem I have been in dialogue with for over 20 years now, Emily Dickinson's "I dwell in Possibility." I can't shake it because of that immortal first line. Wouldn't it be the most amazing thing to dwell in Possibility? How do we even get there? What is it like? Let's allow Dickinson to guide us:

I dwell in Possibility
Emily Dickinson

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

A lot of commentary on this poem wonders about that second line. As soon as Dickinson says "I dwell in Possibility," the awesome line opening up no less than the sky, the most beautiful Visitors, she follows it with "A fairer House than Prose." Many, I think, try to force this to be a reflection on craft in the narrowest sense, e.g. writing poems instead of prose.

It's worth stopping here and remembering that for thousands of years, poetry was the only game in town. If your words were worth anything, they could be sung. People would want to clutch them to their heart and never let go. Prose–the sentences which might as well be terms and conditions for a cell phone contract–was something anyone could do. A poet was considered divine. Think about Homer, the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey, and how tradition holds that he was blind. The reason for this is not obscure: if you can tell no less than the truth of gods and humans, you don't need to see.

So for me, "I dwell in Possibility" features Dickinson exploring the poetic role with those overtones. Everything is on the line. But what, exactly, is everything? Her imagery is full of contradictions. Possibility has windows--ok, that makes sense. But "Superior–for Doors?" Wait, what? Why would you associate a superior door with possibility? She says her house has "Chambers as the Cedars / Impregnable of eye." Wait, possibility is a house where you can't see in the rooms? Can you even go in them? And then there's the roof. Possibility is a house, it has structure, but the structure depends on "The Gambrels of the Sky." I am not an atmospheric scientist--I only know about the troposphere and the stratosphere--so I'm not prone to believe the sky is structured.

What Dickinson consistently does is heighten the contradictions, building a house of cards which you know will not collapse. This is dwelling in possibility. Our redemption narratives depend on the logic she identifies. The saint must have been a sinner or faced gross temptation. Peace can only be had between enemies. And a place with some of the most difficult news to accept has to be a place of healing.

To be clear, she is not talking about any specific place. To dwell in possibility is to have that supreme flexibility about what is good which allows us to choose all, some, or none. I'm not certain she has visitors, as "Of Visitors - the fairest" is just one line with no additional detail. She ends with a gesture: "The spreading wide my narrow Hands / To gather Paradise." What is at stake is the certitude of who you are, your own identity. If you can bring happiness to yourself with the merest of gestures, you can be the most welcoming person, even if you are never welcomed yourself. For those of us getting older, those of us dealing with the reality of death for ourselves and those closest to us, we know that the courage to face death starts with the courage to face life.