April 20, 2025The Library’s Roof Is a Meadow
When the librarian knocks at my door, I ask
if she has a warrant that’s been signed by a judge.
She says no, and I wonder if she wants to talk
about my bibliographic record, or discuss my requests
for interlibrary loans. I have long sought asylum
in the stacks that border on the self-help section,
found sanctuary in the shelves that carry the 158.9s,
but honestly, since the pandemic, I’ve resettled
in the digital land of Libby that lacks the concept
of overdue status—when your time is up,
that’s it. Your items are just disappeared.
I haven’t seen you in a while, the librarian says,
but I’ve been thinking about how I used to check you out
and catalog your cards that were so green,
like the eco-friendly grass on the library’s roof,
that naturalized meadow, and I’ve been wondering
if you’d shelve your solitude and join me there,
in solidarity, because a place of renewal
should be everybody’s birthright, and I miss
your astonishingly undocumented, circulating love.
from Poets Respond
