When life ends in its infancy, what is left to show it was there?
A life needlessly extinguished
A spark, never more than a flicker
Not bright enough to light the day
Quickly snuffed between two fingertips
Lacking residual heat to prove it was a flame
The only memory wisping away
As the smoke rises, invisible ashes blow away
Give me this moment
One moment of peace
It’s fleeting, don’t warn me
Time spent on words is too precious
Let me be
Let me enjoy the details
The window’s light filtered through the tree
Shining bright on the shrubs
Where inside the temperature drops and life blooms
Give me these moments
All of them
Spare me none
For when it’s nearly over
I’ll wish it just begun
Black letters bringing so much color to my world
Letters written in black with a classic #2 pencil
Arranged in a specific order
Your name
Black letters bringing so much color to my world
On the highway
The moon sitting atop a distant bridge
Slowly pulling us forward
On a tide of asphalt
Street lights flash past
Dashes become one line
But the moon never changes
Some books need to be thought about as much as read.
I recently read The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt for the second time. It’s about a boy who loses his mother in a terrorist attack, who is then taken in by a friend’s family in NYC and later his estranged father in Las Vegas. Stolen artwork is involved, and he eventually becomes a drug addict while discovering the shady underworld of antiques and art dealing.
It had probably been six years since I last read it, while I was an undergraduate in college. I flew through it the first time; always anxious to get to my next book in those days. Now I take my time when I read, although I still get through a lot of material. I give myself time to think about what I’m reading instead of flying past commas, periods and dialogue. I didn’t retain as much as I do now, which is one reason I wanted to read it again. When I started rereading the book, I recalled the first 75%, but everything after that was new.
The other reason I wanted to read it again is because it’s a great book (winner of the 2014 Pulitzer Prize in fiction). Donna Tartt is an excellent writer. She’s in the running to write my obituary and epitaph. Her stories are intriguing, which can’t be said about all books with literary merit. Tartt is my second favorite author after Haruki Murakami.
If nothing else, hopefully this post will give you a new book to add to your collection.
Arsenio Franklin 