Bookish Matters

The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.

—Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

Sunday, July 25, 2010


I found this poem a while ago, but I feel it fits well with my current situation. I'm living in a Lutheran village and trying to decide whether to break up with my boyfriend.

by Tom C. Hunley

You're not sure whether or not to divorce your spouse,
so you go for a walk to think-think-think, because
you're a thinker. A pair of bluebirds fly in unison, sing
in unison. They shoot straight up in unison and then,
as if in a wordless, songless agreement to disagree, one
arcs sharp right, the other veers left at a mirror angle,
and because you're a Romanticist at heart, you decide
you have to break your marriage in half.
But you're part Postmodernist, too, so you think
maybe the birds are being ironic, and you think
staying and leaving are really just two ways
of doing the same thing. And since you're also
part Modernist, you pray, a throwback to your latent
Victorianism. You ask God what you should do, and
before He has a chance to answer, you tell Him
you don't believe in Him anymore, though at moments
like this, you wish to God you still did.

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