library
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It's quiet,
The silence enhanced by
The rustle of pages;
The whisper of breath;
The murmur of a search yet to be fruitful.
With a harshness like stone
A siren splits the air
I dye my hair.
I play guitar.
I create art.
But, hey!
I'm more than just a semi-realistic stereotype!
I'm part of a choral group.
I go to church every Sunday.
I love the library.
Browsing the shelves of knowledge that I have retained in my mind,
I take a moment to reminisce and bring to light what I gathered from every life experience.
Love.
We may say libraries are disappearingBut they will always be with usThey have been regineeringUsing them is a must
From left to right and back again they swing:
The golden disks, the pendulums depended.
Indifferent to those who onward tread,
They click in perfect time, in time unending.
For The Library
Tulani Reeves-Miller
You have always been there for me
When I needed you most
With comforting pillow-soft pages
I turn to you when I am at my worst
I invite you to imagine a girl.
She is quiet, her house obscenely loud.
She needs calm – her house is anything but.
You’re looking for her? Check the library.
Because that’s where she is –
Protective pillars stacked around me,
pages of promise, worn and loved. I am safe.
Lives to live through, lessons unfold. I learn.
Travel through time and traverse the world. I grow.
The minute she steps foot in a libraryShe has an excited lookAnd before you can even blink your eyeShe has her nose in a book
We sit together, holding worn and too
real pages that smell of Egypt:
cool and crisp against our fingertips.
We hum our individual orchestras
left in the back of our minds when all we can think of is
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough.
I’ll consider it.
The first few pages intrigued me.
I'll bring this one with me
And read it on the bus ride home.
I’m learning more and more,
A place of students
They come for two things
Desks and internet
To relax, to study
To pick up textbooks from a cubby
A place of modernity
Glass and concrete
Microchips and metal
I look at the towering shelves that enchant me with their dust,
And their books sitting there like a superlative throne.
I find the quiet a blessing,
Because I know they won't forever be silent.
Thoughts. What do they mean? Can we base them off of prior knowledge from a book we liked to read?
We be getting straight A'sBut we missing for daysBaby got me on lockCuz they bringing the Lays (Potato Chips!)
I sit at this desk
Weak wrists and fingers trembling over faded keys (tap)
Eyes heavy, knees bouncing
Anticipation setting in (tap) (tap)
Neck rolling, twisting in my chair. (tap)
Yellowed pages
Faded ink
Coffee stains left behind, by another story traveler
The old man with a corduroy jacket
Patches on the sleeves, and not just the elbows
Books perch on the shelves
