From our guest writer: The Wild Poesy
You can also follow her on Instagram as @somethingfantastic
Upon Selling My Vast Library
Good Lord, I have done the unthinkable.
Those shelves once filled with radiant spines
Now stand empty,
Stark and white as the winter that is just drawing
To a close.
The books, my many lives and lungs,
Lie scattered in piles,
Haphazard over floor and table
And the old black chair,
Teetering and on the verge of toppling
Once again.
The unthinkable: I’m selling the books.
You will protest,
I can see you all,
Hear you all now.
You are your books, young person,
You may say.
Why would I, how could I possibly do away with these
Dozens of
Hundreds of
Thousands of pages of ink-dotted paper,
You may inquire.
How could I do such a terrible thing?
Now I am the one to protest.
You see:
You may see these books, which number high in the hundreds,
And think how great my intellect…
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