Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” Kahil Gibran
untitled
New books,
new smell,
newsprint,
envelops me in a memory.
Growing up,
I climb metal stairs-clank, clank, clank-
to reach the gifts,
treasures really,
of the bookmobile.
My bag hangs emptied
of the past twelve read--
Lovelace, Kipling, Twain, Baum.
and I search
for the next adventures
that will
add riches to my life,
growing up
in a small town.
The librarian
transports her bounty
two ways:
by van and by
enticing conversation.
Here, here is a lovely tale.
Try this one,
And this!
She pulls two volumes from
her own bag-special
for
me.
I thank her,
not only for the books
gratefully taken,
but for her wisdom.
I remember that! Thanks for taking me back to that special time when the bookmobile came to our school!
ReplyDeleteI love that moment of "the bag hangs emptied of the last twelve read...I search for the next adventures." It is so full the wonderful between book anticipation and a treasure hunter on the verge of a discovery!
ReplyDelete