Saturday morning
Wide-eyed weekend exploring
In search of a poem
Not contained in a book
My subconscious is a knotted net
Yearning for expression and confidence
The librarian asks if it’s poetry month
I tell her I have no idea
I’m simply looking for Maya Angelou
Turns out she has a wealth of companions
A constellation of storytellers and stanzas
Spread across dusty bookshelves on the third floor
I collect one after another, stacked in my arms
Books like disclosed diaries
Rich like banquet tables set for a feast
Hidden beneath spines and covers
A treasure trove of limericks and style
Silently waiting to be invited to tea
Slowing down to read
Getting reacquainted with stillness
Each line is like a breath
A moment in history
A punctuation mark
A sign post to stop and consider
Wondering when I will listen to hear
Comments