An old calendar still hangs in the attic, marked only with the speaker’s birthday. No notes, no other dates — just that one day saved. It feels like a message left by someone, maybe the father, maybe the mother. The speaker imagines his mother once smiling at it, then later not smiling, which hints at a family happiness that dimmed over time. The poem is quiet and heavy with unspoken sadness. The calendar becomes a symbol of memory that cannot be changed or thrown away. The speaker longs to tear it down, to feel free or finished with the past, but he is held back by a childlike fear. It is as if touching it would mean touching something painful and unresolved. The mood is tender, still, and a little eerie — a small object holding years of feeling.
The Calendar in the Attic — Summary
I wonder how long it has been Since this old calendar hung here, With my birthday date upon it, Nothing else--not a word of writing-- Not a mark of any hand.
Perhaps it was my father Who left it thus For me to see.
Perhaps my mother Smiled as she saw it; But in later years did not smile. If I could tear it down, From the wall Somehow I would be content. But I am afraid, as a little child, to touch it.