When I Go Away I Am Afraid

In a tiny town on the plains I saw

a library nobody went to.  It was made of brick,

shaded by two big cottonwood trees.

A gabled roof.  A wooden door.  Inside

 

the books were waiting, row by row of stories

we once believed were true.

Then I journeyed to a great city, and when

I stole away in the middle

 

of the night I was so lonely I forgot

the thermos I’d left on the roof of the cab

when I threw in my bags.  I loved that

thermos, it was clever and sleek, and I heard it

 

fall as we pulled away, bouncing down

the street like an empty shell.

 

 

 

 

 

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