It is stuffed full with thick, shapeless coats,
this narrow closet
you’ve been banished to.
Feel your way through the royal
blue mothball-soaked car coat,
the scratchy tasselled poncho,
the soft, frayed jean jacket.
Push back the elegant
camel-hair overcoat,
the black leather jacket,
saddle-raw,
the yellow down parka,
hurry,
as if they were window curtains.
Stubbornly hook
a few inches of territory
on the dull metal pole.
Hang there.
Fence in your homestead.
Look straight ahead.
Stonewall the homesick wrench
you’ve learned to ignore,
the trapped unsung longing for God
that has become your despair.
Turn to face the glass.
Stare critically at the dismal reflections.
Must your miss everything?
The memories of displaced princes.
The secrets of princesses deposed.
Hearts dripping with the juice of apples.
Clouds of gold.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
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