Something About a Book

*This idea is still in a draft stage, for sure! I’m not comfortable with it yet, but knowing that the reader understands how this is, I publish it here anyway. I don’t think my final poem will look much like this when its written.

Something About a Book

Something about a book
sings to me like a mysterious mermaid’s
melody constantly calling to an aged,
gnarled navigator of the seas
despite desperate pleas from home.

Something about a book
draws me like a dedicated dancer
to the beckoning Broadway stage—
unable, unwilling to resist
the allure of its brilliance and boon.

Something about a book
compels me to feel more human
swelling with new-parent pride.
Only we of all creation write
page on page to tell a singular story.

Something about a book
renews and reawakens me.
A Lazarus—if you will—
with a book in hand or wait
I breathe the bounty of life.

Something about a book
becomes my basic being
and as grape is a part of wine
we are mingled and inseparable—
some mystical, perennial process.

Some people, it’s true, say
there is something about an atom,
a sunset, a fishing pole, Pythagorus,
a piano, the way the light accents her hair,
but for me, forever, just something about a book.


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