Don\u2019t Laugh at My Library<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When you sift through my office after I die
\nyou\u2019ll confront a wall of poetry books.<\/p>\n
I hope you won\u2019t snicker like I did
\nwhen I dismantled my boyhood home<\/p>\n
and found forty pairs of black socks
\nin Dad\u2019s dresser drawer. Why so many?<\/p>\n
If you wonder that about my books,
\njust know I couldn\u2019t part with steady companions,<\/p>\n
summoned round my heart to hold at bay the howling roar
\nof the bullshit train that clanged past my door.<\/p>\n
The wall studs buzzed with honeyed hives
\nof language stored on these shelves.<\/p>\n
Before they go to Goodwill, riffle their pages,
\nglance at my underlines.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s where my soul snagged, where
\nshards of reflected majesty<\/p>\n
sang their fierce clarity
\nthrough lines of inert ink.<\/p>\n
These shelves bulge with poems
\nthat gave me the gumption to pull up my socks<\/p>\n
and stride through the turning world.
\nSo, for pity\u2019s sake, don\u2019t scoff too harshly.<\/p>\n
With each passing year and each passionate purchase
\nthis library was the brightest utterance<\/p>\n
I had at my disposal. When I read them,
\nI was their audience. When I didn\u2019t,<\/p>\n
they became mine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Don’t Laugh at My Library” is reprinted from\u00a0Cairns Along The Road<\/em><\/a> (2009).<\/p>\n <\/p>\n BILL MAWHINNEY<\/a> lives with his\u00a0wife Wanda, an abstract painter, and two cats\u00a0in Port Ludlow.\u00a0 He organizes and hosts Northwind Reading Series<\/a> in Port Townsend, performs poetry in local retirement homes, tends his Japanese garden and talks with herons while combing the Olympic Peninsula beaches.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Don\u2019t Laugh at My Library When you sift through my office after I die you\u2019ll confront a wall of poetry books. I hope you won\u2019t snicker like I did when I dismantled my boyhood home and found forty pairs … Continue reading