The library
evokes memories of
musty, private places
where we glimpse other worlds
learning history, science and lore.
Tucked between two shelves
a soft chair awaits.
Cozy, comfy, calm,
yet, pulsing with people
all respectfully guarding
solitude, silence,
and space.
A child’s exuberant voice
fills the still room
with shrieks of excitement
for a colorfully,
illustrated book.
Long shushes are heard now
admonishing the little one
about stillness
in this sacred place.
The air smells
of aging pages
and vintage inks.
Threadbare covers
convey the history
of a book’s existence
having been touched
by loving hands
throughout its long life.
All the eyes that have
looked at these pages.
All the fingers
that have smoothed
its inked surface,
bringing life
to the imagination,
knowledge to the mind;
breathing love
from sultry stories
into someone’s eager heart.
These temples
of wisdom and beauty
still inspire;
thoughtfully constructed
to imbue this sense of sanctuary.
A glorious presence
on the landscape
of our towns.
Previously published in Leslie Klein’s book of poetry, “Driving Through Paintings,” by Shanti Arts Press 2020.
