Monday, May 26, 2025

in my room reading

I cut my teeth on large tomes and small, thin novellas

frail pages turned an off sepia of gray-brown, fragile 

well before they ever got to me

books my dad kept, drug from place to place

books I would drag through the years as well until I parted with them all

Herbert’s spice, Asimov’s robots, Cherryh’s space station, Lee’s mockingbird, Sidney’s little Peppers;

I carried home as many as my long, thin arms could carry

as many as Mother would allow, disallow when her whim struck or the winds changed 

Katie, Flowers in the Attic, The Cider House Rules

all read before my thirteenth birthday, significant 

a day like any other, a day forgotten by all

a day scorched when I walked home alone, before the bell, in clouds of thought, bloody 

but I was never questioned on the content or titles, never censored

too many too much above my years’ comprehension

things that made the world outside seem wrong, seem strange, seem other

things that formed me made me kept me

alone in my room reading