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TBR (or not TBR) - Poem
Sep. 8th, 2021 10:01 pmI was lamenting that my attention span for reading has been absolutely destroyed over the past year and a half, and as I was describing it the words started to feel like poetry. So I made it a poem.
TBR (or not TBR)
TBR (or not TBR)
There are twenty
library books in my bedroom
arranged on a shelf, spines out
stacked, shuffled
between the desk and the tote
bag hung from the bedpost.
If I wanted, I could borrow
nine hundred and ninety nine books
pile them high
wall myself in
and never read them all, or any.
I can’t even read twenty.
It goes like this:
a hold arrives. I check it out
bring it home to the shelf for library books
where it won’t be lost
(or read)
It sits through six renewals, gently gathers dust,
and then returns.
I read three hundred thousand words of fanfiction
on my phone.
It goes like this:
a book on the library shelf catches my eye
I pick it up, invite it back to my place, devour it
send it back in the morning
leaving nothing behind but guilty pleasure.
I search the shelves for another
one-night stand.
It goes like this:
three holds arrive
I find a book on the shelf
two holds arrive
someone returns a book that looks interesting
a hold arrives
my fingers trace beautiful covers
enticing words within my grasp
I cannot bear to unlock a single syllable.
It goes like this:
waiting months on hold for a new book
scanning copies for fans
who paid better attention.
My hold arrives.
There are still people waiting.
The book stares at me for three weeks
scuttling from my bag to the chair to the bed and back
unopened.
Notice: return. Item cannot be renewed.
I read five hundred pages in one night.
It goes and comes, all or nothing
the pursuit of words on a page:
three ebooks in 48 hours
three weeks without cracking a spine
or courting Lady Libby.
I could borrow
nine hundred and seventy nine more books
without anyone caring
and yet
twenty books
weigh me down.
