Overall, I have found
Sense and Sensibility
As acid a work as I might
Ever suffer to read.
Then Mrs. Jennings
Misunderstood Elinor,
Who, distracted, didn’t pursue
The slight oddities of response,
Creating an extended scene
So screamingly funny
I had to lean on the counter
Until my mirth was exhausted.
How interesting, to revisit a book
I’d forgotten I’d ever visited.
Return to Gone-Away.
A family buys a ruined wreck
Of a magnificent home,
And happen across some
Chippendale furniture in the attic
That will pay for all their improvements.
I think I’ve always had this idea
At the back of my mind
That such things could be . . .
It must have been a seed planted,
Too many years ago to remember.
The traumas in my life have been minor,
So even to write about them makes me feel
Like Marianne Dashwood, ever making
Much over little, or nothing.
But a theme emerged:
All my traumas relate to something I failed to do,
Whether from ignorance, or distraction.
I had thought my perfectionism was gone . . .
But I don’t think it has.
I haven’t been to a homeopath
Since 2013.
I filled out the narrative
For Dr. Guess.
He asked for 6-7 pages.
I gave him 25.
I feel horrible . . .
But I’m not sure what I could have left out.
Though most trees stand bare,
We paused our reading as the clearing
Filled with leaves,
Falling, rising, floating.
Just Jadon and I went up to church.
So overstimulated—bad dream,
Emotional upheaval of weeks past,
Sick husband, loud boys—
I sang, dispiritedly,
And then went out to sit in the car
For the sermon.
I needed silent prayer.
Regrouping.
Personal analysis.
Then I was better,
And spent a lovely half hour or so
In conversation.
If there had been pressing tasks,
I could have worked.
But there weren’t,
So I spent the day on homeopathy,
Thankful for a day to spend.
