The Wooden Library
The volume called Beech is bound
in bark, its leaves
pressed with nuts and flattened
seeds. The one on Maple's sticky
as syrup; Oak's full of gall.
This is my library.
Bound: things made of
themselves, not what I write
of them. Forest,
once I burned words to keep
myself warm. Pure caprice. Heat,
and rising from ashes: green
tendrils, wood without words,
a wild deciduous future.
Sandra McNew's (Sandramcnew@aol.com) freshman work-study was checking out books
and reading shelves in the Stanford University library; she
has always liked reading books better than reading shelves.