Your aroma draws me to you when I open the door
Each one a bit unique,
From the sun-kissed pages of a den
To the dust of grandmother’s basement shelf,
While upstairs grandchildren helped make cookies
And grandfather nodded off in his armchair.
From the sterile doctor’s office
To the small fingers of children
Who sit on the rug in the raucous nursery.
The smell of someone who has been traveling.
The knight back from the crusade,
The princess back from exile,
The sailor back from sea.
I slowly walk down the aisles,
Gently caressing your spine
Leather-bound
Cracked and worn
New and unopened
The slickness of glossy paper
The texture of cloth
Beneath my fingertips.
Occasionally, the tome that reminds me of times past
Of dalliances with poets in fields
And whispers under the blankets
Illuminated by flashlight.
Familiar
Comfortable
I pull one down gently
And gently spread its covers open.
Rows of black markings on white
Or delicate eggshell
The touch like silk or satin
And as they fall
The sound of angels’ wings