To the Lighthouse and Beyond

Recently published in The American Scholar, my addition to the ending of To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. This prose poem is not only by permission, but by prompt. "Next Line, Please" column is back after a five year hiatus! Thank you to David Lehman for resuming this endeavor. 

Visit https://theamericanscholar.org/what-a-strange-path/  to see the full column. Enjoy reading other entries and participate in the next writing prompt if you're so inclined! 

Cheers,

Charise

Borrowing from Hamlet

Scene at the Tate

Even in the gallery, there’s gossip.

Strangers talk about what was staged
––the model with silver gown
stayed hours in a tin tub, laid out
like caviar––to the general view,
a maiden voyage. And Millais, 
Pre-Raphaelite, realist
to the manner born, grappled
with the Surrey flies, windy gusts,
and a notice for trespassing––
murder most foul of the hay. 

He confided to a friend,
“painting of a picture under
such circumstances would be greater
punishment to a murderer
than hanging.” Not to mention
the medical bill for Lizzie Siddal
of the bath, as warmth elapsed
for the sake of painstaking detail.  
Art exacts a price and so the heart––

Ophelia floats in her perpetual spring.

~ LCMH

The Spread

Thanksgiving with a Vegetarian

When she said , "Would you pass the turkey?", a curtain of belief parted and the foul meat eaters were pardoned. The question wafted over platters of root vegetables and chestnuts, cornbread stuffing with chunked apples and pecans, garlic and parslied mashed potatoes, ginger cranberry sauce, mixed greens and fennel salad. It sweetened the meal, in the great balance of accommodating guests. For I knew that this annual exception to her diet relied on nostalgia for tradition as well as two glasses of wine "as a digestif". At our table, every crystal goblet had been filled with sparkling cider - in solidarity for the one daughter whose daily sustenance is sobriety. It was a good year for cider, robust aftertaste of gratitude, taste after taste.

~ LCMH