Calluses


I am building calluses
Around my heart.
Nobody can come in
To hear my song.

She’s losing strength
Because I exposed her
To empty souls who
Did not know,

That she is a melody
Few have heard,
And she is timid.
She will hide.

I will not forsake her
Or sing her to the dark,
So I am building calluses
Around my heart.

Flowers


You were never going to see me
Among all the other flowers,
Watching idle as the strangers
Daily passed me by.

I am not unlike my sisters,
Neither am I just like them;
We are gathered as a body
Staring at the sky.

If you deign to come in closer
And, for once, get on your knees,
You might see my red is different—
Only by a hue—

Maybe if you bowed your head
And plucked me from the ground,
You could press me in a book,
A love poem for you.

Stars


Did you see the stars tonight?
I could hear them cry
Watching human promises,
Every one a lie.

The stars above, among themselves,
Feel no need to compete.
Each is glad for her own light,
Sacred and complete.

One by one they turn away,
Collapsing in despair:
Their grief consuming everything,
Leaving their wrath fair.

Child, don’t wish upon the star,
But promise her you’ll wake.
Nothing good will come to you
Defending your mistake.

The 2019 Reading List


In this post, I spoke about my New Year’s Resolution: to read 30 classic novels—or at least attempt to read them—in order to work through my bookshelf. Collecting books is a beautiful thing, but that’s only half the fun; the magic is in reading them!

I said I would post my reading list when it was assembled, however there has been a change.

The original plan was to read 30. While planning my reading list, I took into account the length of some of these books and the time I will have available. I also reminded myself that, following the death of my grandmother, I’ve been having problems sitting down to focus on a book.

The number has therefore been lowered to 25, and I’m not going to beat myself up over it if I can’t read them all. The point is to be trying.

I have already finished the first book on the list—it was The Mayor of Casterbridge, and I enjoyed it quite a bit. A post about the novel will follow. I took copious notes of the first chapters but stopped halfway through, when the book became too gripping to jot my thoughts every ten pages.

Here, then, is the list. The books are to be read in no particular order, and I have chosen these titles on the basis of owning them; there is no theme, even though you can tell classic literature is my favorite category. Also, some of these books are novellas or anthologies; they are thick books I haven’t gotten through yet.

  • The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy
  • Middlemarch by George Eliot
  • Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
  • Dubliners by James Joyce
  • Heart of Darkness & Other Stories by Joseph Conrad
  • Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
  • The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens
  • To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
  • The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer
  • The Sagas of Icelanders (anthology of folklore)
  • Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne
  • The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
  • Emma by Jane Austen
  • Complete Short Stories of Franz Kafka
  • Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
  • Tess of the d’Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy
  • Russian Fairy Stories (anthology of folklore)
  • The Story of King Arthur and His Knights
  • The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope
  • Sons and Daughters by D.H. Lawrence
  • Adam Bede by George Eliot
  • My Antonia by Willa Cather
  • The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas
  • Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
  • TBA

I have left one spot empty because I know myself, and I know a classic will pop up sometime in July or September that should be in this list.

I am not limiting this year’s reading to the books listed above. I’m positive there are other lighter works that will provide modern respite. The point of this challenge, in the end, is to make progress, know literary history, and develop my vocabulary. Most of all, I look forward to doing something I enjoy. Reading old books has always been a favorite pastime of mine.

Have you set any goals this year? What are they?

In Grief


The day the grand piano was tuned, no one remained to play it. When the carpets were cleaned, not a soul walked the halls.

The lonesome house was being scrubbed to make space for new life—but wasn’t ready to let go. One could feel in the air a note from a lullaby never finished; it sought attention from anyone who would listen.

Empty were the chairs round the table and nothing baked in the oven. The curtains, once open to admit light of the sun, remained shut like a barrier to keep out the New.

Who, now, would rush down the stairs to greet the postman? Would anyone sit at the balcony again?

The house remembered, and was loathe to let go. It longed for the sound of children laughing and the cheer of the lamps. No one walked its halls, and it wondered why no one considered the pain of spaces where memories were made.

The house was not an empty shell; in silence, it mourned with the family.

l’automne


Your bookshelves are empty.
Outside, the leaves fall.
We’re waiting through
The saddest autumn of all.

Your piano is sleeping—
Too great for my hands.
Still, I will play
‘Til my heart understands.

I took home your paper
To sketch out your face,
But you have a smile
That art can’t replace.

The trees out your window
Have all become bare.
So I search my heart:
You will always be there.

I’m thankful to have this beautiful woman for a grandmother. And I’m thankful to have her for another Thanksgiving.

Ink & Gold


I couldn’t put in ink a thought
To justify the gold unfurled,
As sleep began to settle on
My precious, quiet world.

No nature lover could have asked
For her to stay awake.
Living things could never work
Without a well-earned break.

Yet falling leaves can sound like tears
As flowers die and stir my fears.

Tuesday Morning’s Child


Snowy hills have piled;
Whispering wind is heard.
Only Tuesday morning’s child
Makes out every word.

Frosty window-glass,
Snowy blankets grand.
Which dark things have come to pass
Upon this frigid land?

Things the sun has seen,
Things the moon will mourn,
Until every soul has passed
Away and been Reborn.

How can human tongue,
Limited, explain
What has hurt this land so long?
Who can be to blame

For these tears in the earth,
An emptiness that grows?
Words have very little worth;
Tuesday’s child knows.