The Bookshop

Down some worn steps,
out of the light,
is a dusty cavern.

Lit by a few, bald bulbs and
smelling like the homes of old people.

There is no order
in the piles that gather
like someone who was preparing to move
and got disturbed.

Be prepared to spend some time
rooting.

Sit on the floor and carefully
dust off the cover and
hold it to the light.

The chaos is calming
as is the thought of where each
paperback once lived.

Who devoured the pages
with lusty abandon?
How many hours were spend savouring each word
on a chaise longue in the foetal position?

The search is as pleasurable
as the potential or reality of a rare find.

I select two
never more
or less
for I need enough
to carry me through a journey or a lunch hour or a Sunday afternoon
but with the prospect of another visit
sometime
very soon.

I leave with two treasures in my pocket.
I think of the moment
when I can open the cover and begin to read
in peace.

Free at last.

I smile.