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.”
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.
Randall – many thanks. Glad you liked. Regards.