It's definitely January to me. That time of year when I need to remind myself of things each day to be grateful for. Today, it is my job. Working at the library (for a second time around) allows me the luxury of working with two things I love: Great people and books. Talking about the library also gives me an excuse to post a "library" poem:) Here you go...
In the Library
by Charles Simic
for Octavio
There's a book called
"A Dictionary of Angels."
No one has opened it in fifty years,
I know, because when I did,
the covers creaked, the pages
crumbled. There I discovered
the angels were once as plentiful
as species of flies.
The sky at dusk
used to be thick with them.
You had to wave both arms
just to keep them away.
Now the sun is shining
through the tall windows.
The library is a quiet place.
Angels and gods huddled
in the dark unopened books.
The great secret lies
on some shelf Miss Jones
passes every day on her rounds.
She's very tall, so she keeps
her head tipped as if listening.
The books are whispering.
I hear nothing, but she does.
