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BOOKS

Mismatched bricks of thought line my walls,
slivers of time and space for those who will enter.
I run my finger down the spines,
streaked with hair line creases
that run like rivulets of tears, streaming down the binding,
As if in honor of the beloved characters contained within.
My fingers smooth the curling, frayed edges,
tenderly trace spider webs of wear marring the depiction of Excaliber's well tempered
perfection,
disfiguring Kate Trask's comely features, matching it to her soul,
seem to etch pre-emptive flames to Manderley's grandeur.
The indignities suffered to their malleable shells
fail to reflect on the eloquent tide of emotions secreted within.
Familiar bulks and weights, comfortable plots, well-learned themes,
lives and loves and deaths, playing out before my eyes, in a dance --
the character's disjoined movements liquid and real across the ivory page.
Old friends reside in their tomes, with soft dusky curls on the corners.
New acquaintances, just as dear, peer from the corners of smooth, and square, and
glowing volumes.
Hiding within, waiting, the most important thoughts their creators dared to relay.
BY EMILY ZAHN

Emily Zahn lives in Colden.

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