Bibliotheca

The effect is instantaneous
Outside its door I’m anxious
Nervous, most of the time
But when the glass parts and I’m cosseted by the familiarity
of the rows and rows and rows of paper and ink, I think
“ah, peace”
Nothing worries me while I wander its aisles
with its piles and piles and piles of other people’s thoughts
most of which go over my head while I trail my fingers across their spines
full of lines that I will never read
And although the nature of its business has evolved, it is consistent
and resistant to becoming hipster-cool
Oh sure, it has a DVD rack
and stacks of CDs for people to hire
Loads and loads and loads of André Rieu
who seems to be so du jour
at the moment
But still, as well, its taste is timeless, if not faultless
I’ve been coming here since I was able
to stock my bedside table
with something for free
Imaginary
Tales long forgotten that have left their mark
To spark a young girl to want to write
I wish I could bottle its Zen
and when I needed it, dab the liquefied relaxed calmness
onto my main pressure points
or drink it straight into my system
But I can’t
So I’ll keep coming back, through those doors
to explore someone else’s world
in the hope of leaving mine for a while