Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” Kahil Gibran
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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.
2 comments:
I remember that! Thanks for taking me back to that special time when the bookmobile came to our school!
I 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!
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