Thursday, June 28, 2012

Ode to my bookshelf

It was between amber and brown, 
between fire and earth. 
The rich dark chocolate
of dusk had set in 
A wave of dust
had colored the wood 
I took contemplative miniature steps 
–feeling every
wood, seasoned or un-aged,
on the planks, 
on open doors 
Finally, I found you. 
From your feet
to the brim, 
heavy and bright, 
my fingers had
brushed against you
You left an oval of dirt ,
on my fingertips.
I knew you were salty,
a fruit that the seas of
my emotion had chosen. 
to stand against the
wall of the house, 
open to me 
like a mouthful of kisses 
I had mourned and perished 
and grew with the books in your bosom.
Naked in your skin
I will dismantle you slowly.
Take down
books of poetry and prose,
books clothed in their glory jackets 
books naked and threadbare.
I wish I could depart with you,
to another life 
but for now I kill you, 
with pain that stabs me
when I stab you.
I will bleed my knuckles over you.
I will leave coffee mug stain on you
  – a circle like a ring, a circle
akin to handcuffs you’d think.
Sometimes a house lizard will run over
leaving padded footsteps 
marked in dust. 
Your death will reduce to
ashes and the wind will powder me
with your gray remains.
I will lose my companion, 
one autumnal summer of amaltas © 

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