I’ll be writing poetry for a class for the next few months. Some of them will show up here as Saturday Reflections. Enjoy.

Unread Books

The clean, prairie landscape 
of her coffee table
is obscured by cairns 
not of stones, but of books:

The stack of three, from her son --
he just thinks she’ll like them;
but she will know him better 
having read them.

Another pile, novels 
full of characters and relationships which,
though yet unknown,
will mirror and illuminate her life experience.

There are so many more:
about meditation and the practice of gratitude,
about history and the correlating lessons to be learned --
or not.

Unread books, all of them;
each waiting to enrich
the complex topography 
of her self.