Used Books by Sarah Jane Sloat
This one was shared by a poetry buddy from GoodReads. I like the idea of used books, but I will confess that sometimes I don’t really enjoy the odors associated with them. I like to think of the different people that may have read the book, though.
Used Books
By Sarah Jane Sloat
I like them dog-eared and lawnsoft,
and savor the character of winestain
and thumbsmudge,
the tear-warp between pages,
scrawl lolling down margins,
x’s, question and check marks
scratched out as anchors.
They kindle affinity with readers
who’ve leafed through before, house
a kinship of signatures, conjuring towns
and streets in states I’ll never visit.
They preach the economy of timber
and purses, while scribbled dates
evoke evenings spent couch-lounging
through past springs and winters.
Though they come off the press crisp
and unsullied, I like them used
for the gust of tinder and sawdust,
the waft of feathers adrift in a hayloft.
I turn the yellow hem of the pages,
a hue half neon, half tubercular,
like the wallpaper of a motel
nicotine-thick with confessions
where with the fray, I find repose
under covers well plumbed
and sepulchral.
