i have my books and my poetry to protect me

 Around the 17th box of books, I usually start to grumble to myself about the number of books I have.  This is the 10th time I’ve unpacked them.  Some of them have traveled all the way from Kansas; the very slim volume lying horizontally atop the book Corrections is a collection of Tennyson’s poetry that I’ve had since high school.  My English teacher gave it to me from her little library after my umpteenth checkout, saying with a laugh that she’d get another.

That’s when I stop grumbling–remembering the stories attached to the books.  The books‘ metadata, if you will.  I haven’t read all of my books, but every single one has a reason for existing in my collection: the old books from my grandfather’s collection that had no value but meant much to him; the recommended readings from friends while I was in dark times because they were texts that helped them in their sorrows; the giant art books I dream through lazily with coffee, searching for inspiration; the childhood favorites I read over and over and over; all the words that taught me to more than not die, but to live.

So maybe it is crazy to have lugged these 1,000+ volumes from Kansas to Illinois to Pennsylvania to Virginia.  I don’t care.  They are my friends and my guide when all the lights go out.

But if I have to move them again, I’ll try slightly smaller boxes, if only to save my back the pain.


~ by logosamorbos on July 13, 2015.

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