The Library

The Library
by frank scarangello

I went to the library room today

paneled in English walnut

furnished with a leather sofa

where one can sit while visiting the ashes.

A quiet space within

an already quiet space

a space of quiet speaking

with the loved one in the box

behind the glass.

Not everyone can visit their

final resting place still alive

to sit and contemplate.

Many would rather not

but she is here and my name

is already on the door.

Our faces look out at passers by

from a little pewter frame

as we were when we were young.

We never knew the little picture

in the carnival photo booth would be

the proof of our existence.

She is smiling as the boy I was

looks back at me.

Our boxes will rest together

in our little space behind the glass

until the great marble building

is reduced to rubble and

no one living remembers us.

Our library will be a quiet space

for she and me as we stay

close together for eternity

Before exiting to the sun

I leave a note.

I always do.

“Wait here for me.

I will join you in the blink of an eye.”

2 thoughts on “The Library

  1. Delicate, evocative, moving. Whatever this library is, it keeps a relic from time past that speaks volumes. Very effective imagery keeps us guessing about the context yet focusing on the primary feelings.

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