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Books of Life

The book of growing
Has a broken spine
And made my belly fill
With sadness and love
There’s a red truck on the cover
And my summer youth stuck in the pages

The book of mother
Brings me back across America
To an armchair, and scratchy, not-shaved legs,
My mother’s voice every night,
And flying fairy tales

The book of outsider,
Has a curse and a moon
And is the white-painted smooth brick walls of the YMCA
The room that needed Febreze
And my pylon jacket

The book of home
Is hardback, and starts with Privet Drive
It is weak Sunday morning light and movies in the living room
Pages that know my touch,
That is home

I do not know the book of grief
The book of death, or forgiveness,
But I am in
No hurry
To read them






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