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...AN ETERNITY by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH YOUTH PENETRANT by CONRAD AIKEN THE PASSING OF THE EX-SLAVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RETURN (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ANCHORED TO THE INFINITE by EDWIN MARKHAM CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |