poetry

the library, during the pandemic, post-fire

the library, in the pandemic, post-fire

at the library:
free masks in lunch bags
a sign that says
offer a message of hope
(or something like that)
along with cut-out hearts,
markers, paperclips,
and a string strung with
love and good wishes.

all the books we’re looking for are here.
all 3 Cedar wants are in the Teen section.
on our way up I ask
if he’s been in there before.

once, when Owen was registering
for the Summer Reading Program

he says.
this, then, is a rite of passage.

we enter and it turns out
he knows just about all the kids at the computers.
yes, this is his zone now.

it’s not like the old days –
we hustle in and out
the water fountains are padlocked
the librarians are behind sneeze guards
and there are no more golf pencils and slips of paper
to jot down Dewey Decimals.

but it is like the old days, too –
a warm place where we take care of one another
and believe anything is possible.
the first heart on the line reads
thank you for welcoming us in
and giving us somewhere to be

(or something like that).
it’s still a home away from home,
which is especially welcome
when your home is no more.

poetry

return to South Sudan

return to South Sudan

before returning to his village
he found a bookstore
and bought a big pile of books
for twenty bucks

but when he brought them out
the line stretched
all the way to disappointment

determined to turn no one away
he did the only thinkable thing –
sliced each paperback in half

as the mothers collected
these split works
they cried with thanks

for the little boy they never thought
would walk back into their lives
and the faraway stories of hope
he brought in his own hands