No Annihilation

From the collection published in 2018, Pink Chalk.

No Annihilation

Library
front desk. Summertime.
Two students
work. Quiet.
Read books from the discard cart.
Last time those pages

may be turned.
A reprieve. A stay.
Another
chance to speak
to one more mind. To survive
destruction. To live.

(shadorma chain)
6/21/18
6/26/18

In the Trap

In the Trap
woman
disappearing into the gloom of the library stacks
wearing a yellow dress
nose down
following the beacon light of her phone’s screen
down the rows of shelves
lured on by tempting prospects of
gossip or chatter or just filling the air
the chance that the one something
she is looking for
might finally make itself known to her
from somewhere else
always somewhere else
oblivious
to the words
she passes between in pursuit
of the opposite of
stop and look where you are
look for it where you are.
I make to call out but
she moves into the darkness
the fading fluorescent flicker
the last I ever see of her

6/14/18
6/20/18

Prehistoric Message Current and Today

From the collection published in 2018, Clean Canvas.

Prehistoric Message Current and Today
The library cart
metal, shelves, books
four wheels
you’ve seen them
you know.

This cart
trundling somewhere
way off back behind me
I hear it. Intermittent cries
a screech-shriek repeated
drawn out and wavering variations
rising above the other library sounds
heating system hiss
click of computer keys
student snuffle late-winter cold

It bellows
across the plain of tables books carpet chatter
like a dinosaur elephant raptor bird

Human laughter from the area of the circulation desk
just goes on and conversation and
no one pays any attention
but me
my head raises
I do hear it.

I hear
protest
assert
dissatisfied
caged in
wants something different
snappish
and
ill-tempered hard-working
professional pride.

I don’t know why
this is what I hear
when everybody else hears

oil my wheels

But I do.

3/8/18

Third Floor Section QA

From the collection Refuge, 2017.

Third Floor Section QA
The student walks
stutter-stepping along the row
not yet not yet almost
Here.
The Library of Congress system
narrowing things down
letter letter number number
zeroing in
this one
unique
set of thoughts made tangible
book.

The student hooks her finger
into the top of the spine
pulling the book toward her
a whole chunk of
exactly what
she’ll find out
when she sits down to read.

The student straightens her back
glides down the aisle
Steps receding
the sound softened by the ranks of books
she didn’t take
this time.
2/16/17

Compressed Deliberation and Decisions Made

From Enough for a Book, published in 2016.

Compressed Deliberation and Decisions Made

Strides up
puts the brakes on
Full stop
a wave of
floral body wash arriving seconds later
Not unpleasant but
intrusive. Whispers to herself
running her finger over the shelf.
Impatient. Not finding.
Strikes off to the right
tacking around the table. Out of sight.
The books she has rejected
silent
and would not have suited her
anyway.

6/23/16

Line of Attack

From Enough for a Book, published in 2016.

Line of Attack

Short
and her t-shirt a little too tight
wearing flip flops and peering at the top shelf
like she can see it. Stretches out her arm
-that won’t accomplish a thing-
to grasp a book out of her reach. Gives up.
Whisks around the corner of the shelf
without looking back
just like the cat does when he’s knocked the lamp
off the table
but says he never.

6/23/16

 

Explorer

From the collection published in 2017, Refuge.

Explorer

The reader sits in the library
Book
superimposed on
the atolls of peeled varnish
strung along the deep pale gouge
curving out
in a generous open-arm sweep
halfway across
the table a map of endurance and patience
boredom
cold feet
and the spark
of picking up the trail

3/2/17 

Archetype

Archetype

The books the dried pages the dense air
the heater’s incessant roaring promising heat and
producing none. The thick stone walls
that hold in the chill. The windows spattered
with raindrops blown hard against them
vibrating in the wind. Somewhere outside a gutter
overflows the water slapping the stone. The granite windowsill
cold when I rest my hands on it the radiator
cold when I rest my hands on it the fluorescent bulbs
hang in fixtures without covers and every other one
seems to flicker. The filing cabinets no longer needed
miles of them lining the end walls on each floor a scrap metal
bonanza the shelves a darkened turquoise
a color no one can replicate
today full of books exactly what a library should be
full of books and the rest of it irrelevant
as long as I can get at those books.

2/16/16

Setting For A Dream

From the collection Look Winter in the Face, 2015.

Setting For A Dream

The library is
too hot and the air is
too dried-out and
smelling like baked paper
rustling with all the thoughts
inside all the heads
of all the people
scattered around the maze of desks
filled with people
hiding yawns and cold drinks
turning pages
The noisy soporific silence
punctuated
by the voices of two librarians
way off at the front desk
speaking in street-level tones, mighty perky,
about something not to do with the library.
The black night presses
hard outside the windows
the readers at the tables reflected in the glass
wavery, dreamy
The hiss of the heating system wraps in and among
books and words
old paper and crinkly upholstered chairs.
The man sitting at the center table yawns again.

Blur Montco 9-20-18 #2 BW small

Blur photo, black/white, 2018.

Cocoon

Cocoon

Paint peels from the ceiling
in the basement of the library
hanging in curls above the shelves of
bound volumes of ancient magazines
waiting for a consultation
and enjoying the quiet
in the meantime. The linoleum floor
patterned in the style
of fifty years ago
shows it can still come up to a good shine.
The silence
is solid and full of dust
blown out of the heating vents
switching on and off so suddenly
that I jump. I take a selection
from a turquoise metal shelf
and settle in to read.

11/17/16

 

chc 7/27/17 lights on