It was that time when I could sit by a window and read books. Naturally, I grew fat, and the books heavy. Blooming out from behind in tight knickers, I cruised between library and window chair, airily like a yacht. On the street I heard cursing by foreign kids not in found books. Right through me the kids shouted. I could have been air, as I crossed their games, hurt at being invisible. In the library, the books smelled of leather and paper dust. I would pull back my head out of the press made by the leaves and thought the smell not unpleasant but close, binding me in. I needed air. Out in the street, one arm hooked around a pile of books, I walked, feeling the crippled position of my arm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAIN-SONGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE SCARE-FIRE by ROBERT HERRICK SIC VITA by HENRY KING (1592-1669) THE NOTHING REDEMPTION by BRUCE WEIGL PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 9. AL-HATHIM by EDWIN ARNOLD PORTRAIT BY PICHER by FRANCES BAKER HINTS OF AN HISTORICAL PLAY TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE LAST MAN: ANTICIPATION OF EVIL TIDINGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |