I am a bibliophile.  I was the child who didn’t have any sense of how to navigate around town because I spent all of my time in the car reading.  My family has a standing position of refusing to hold my bag or coat because they are usually too heavy due to the books I’m carrying around.  When packing luggage, I’ve come to realize that my problem becomes that I immediately fill any spot with the book that fits there.  Bibliophile.  My family has occasionally tried to convince me that this is a problem.  I don’t believe them.

They sit on shelves,
above shelves,
wedged between shelves,
pile on the floor,
open surfaces,
languish in boxes unpacked,
and squeeze into nooks.
I have read them more than once,
if they have been with me long,
and most have.
Some would be able to tell you
of nights spent squashed under my pillow,
their worn spines revealing more hard use.
I stroke my fingers down and across their spines,
remembering the places and friends they hold,
And wonder where my next new book will fit…

September 2008

Thanks to Christine over at the Abbey for her Poetry Party this week!

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