At the Bookstore

Dear Ones, in the interest of reducing both clutter and spending, I have been making copious use of the library. I recently checked out and read Orbital, by Samantha Harvey. When I finished the last page, I sat on the couch with tears in my eyes, just thinking that a human person made this amazing piece of art. I knew this was one of those books I needed to own, so I could pick it up at 3 in the morning and just bask in it. Today’s poem draft was inspired by the bookstore where I bought my copy.

The friendly dog at the neighborhood bookstore

left its nose-print on my book as I walked up to pay.

“Ah,” said the clerk, “a kiss.”

“A dog with good taste,” I said,

“It is a wonderful book.”

A lingering man in washed out plaid said,

“But have you read The Road?

You know, for a bit of fun.”

We smiled, tight-toothed, together.

I suppose there is space to read about collapse

while living through collapse.

But, as I stepped out into the clear day,

air smelling of water on soil,

I wanted to dive into a story so small

it became as dense and irresistible as a black hole —

a story to make me feel like specks of walking mud

on a multicolored rock

suspended in worship of a bright orange star.