Welcome back to the Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios.

I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Thursday, November 7th, 2024.

Today's poem is by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and it's called A Common Inference.

I'll read it once, say a word or two about it, and then read it a second time.

A Common Inference. read it once, say a word or two about it, and then read it a second time. A common inference.

A night, mysterious, tender, quiet, deep. Heavy with flowers, full of life asleep. Thrilling with insect voices, thick with stars, no cloud between the dewdrops and red Mars,

the small earth whirling softly on her way, the moonbeams and the waterfalls at play,

a million, million worlds that move in peace, a million mighty laws that never cease,

and one small ant heap, hidden by small weeds, rich with eggs,

slaves, and a store of millet seeds. They sleep beneath the sod and trust in God.

A day. All-glorious, royal, blazing bright, heavy with flowers, full of life and light. Great fields of corn and sunshine,

courteous trees, snow-sainted mountains, earth-embracing seas, wide golden deserts, slender, silver streams,

clear rainbows where the tossing fountain gleams, and everywhere, in happiness and peace,

a million forms of life that never cease.

And one small ant heap, crushed by passing tread,

hath scarce enough alive to mourn the dead.

They shriek beneath the sod.

There is no God.

Charlotte Perkins Gilman, born 1860, died in 1935, is an intriguing figure. She's a member of the

famed Beecher family. She was also an early feminist and advocate for women's rights,

but also something of a eugenicist.

So her relationship to equality and equal rights is a complicated one, which could easily lead to a variety of readings of this poem, I think.

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