a poem a day for a year #15

by Amy Turn Sharp


today in the tight stacks of the public library

I took every single Billy Collins book

and shoved them into the stroller basket

they did not all fit

so my kids carried some

my young baby sucked on the corner of Questions About Angels

and one kept falling from my arms

to the stone floor

suddenly annoying all of the people on the computers

who were damaging their brains with facebook 


so we took the elevator upstairs

to where the kids learn how to fall in love with books

where they learn how to lust

we all broke spines

we all felt like junkies

for the small words on stiff paper

and everything was fine for the day

 

the blue cold battered up against the windows

but it did not touch us

we were hot with fever

red from reading at fast speeds

 

but I could not wait to get home

to lock myself into my bedroom

and fan the small books out all around my body

and marvel like a tinker

at all the poems that I had to keep me company

at all the poems that no one else in my town could read

because I had them all

like prisoners

like tiny

little

teachers

 

 

painting via Jack Richard Smith