I am in the center
of a circumference of books,
and it occurs to me that
in all my living spaces I have
evolved a room such as this.
Like a literary brick layer,
book by book, shelf by shelf,
a small city of manuscripts grows.
They are life-long denizens,
ever-present, standing ingloriously
like straight-stemmed
multicolored Easter lilies
with silent trumpet mouths
waiting to be opened, to teach,
to comfort, to be re-read after
their long involuntary rest.
I dust and lovingly polish their spines.
I rearrange them in my personal hierarchies.
I lionize their centrality in my life
and acknowledge
that nothing electronic
can ever replace
the invitation to come in
when I stand in the doorway
of my room full of books.
5 comments:
Nice poem, Diane. I do (and have done) the same thing. I feel exactly the same way: nothing can replace a book in your hands and cracking it open for the first time (or once again).
Kat
This has to be one of my all time favorites of your poetry. As I sit here surrounded by my own circumference of books. I will never purchase an E book... nothing can replace paper, spines and the delicious smell of a book!
re: my post. I don't know if I will ever trust a church again. I am only going to strive to love God as much as I can. That's all I can do. (hugs)
I am also surrounded by books, more in piles than a "circumference." Still, I love this poem and your descriptions inherent.
Oh, I agree.
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