Open Book

He found a book hidden on a shelf
in a place he thought he'd find 
a librarian
with horn rimmed glasses 
and collar buttoned 
up to there,
and despite the layers of dust
something drew him to it

He began to read, 
expecting the covers to open up a world
from Genesis to Revelations;
Mother Goose to Martha Stewart
and Ladies' Home Journal – 
he never expected Anne Rice
or Anaïs Nin 

But he has read 
from cover to cover
and found all of that, and more;
reading chapter after chapter, 
every word memorized,
no page left unturned,
and with every read
lines of inaccuracies are crossed out, 
corrected by his hand,
notes scribbled in the margins
in red ink 
to add insight and clarity,

He cast off the dust jacket,
preferring the beauty 
of the finely bound volume beneath it, 
its gold lettering on a silk cover
soft against his palms as he holds it,
his fingers running over pages 
of the finest linen bond, 
the intricate plots and twists
and wonderful climax
carefully written over decades,
and when the lights grow dim,
still the book lays before him
waiting to be read again.

I am 
that open book




december 2010 
 
  



Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ January 4, 2011 ~ Di


    



Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ February 6, 2011 ~ Christine & Sarah