Like an Open Book
If you read me,
will you trace your fingers
down my spine,
savor one chapter at a time,
perhaps revisit a phrase or two
that made you catch your breath?
Or will you eat me like a cheap romance-
leave me spread leaf
on the arm of your chair,
my corners curled under
to mark your indifference?
Am I merely a mystery-
clues sifted and sorted
to see if you guessed correctly,
then stacked in a box destined for the ‘used’ bin
or perhaps used to kindle your next fire?
It would be so painful
to feel you trace my bindings,
ease my leaves open,
let you read between my lines,
then feel you shake me loose
like a flier set free from a glossy magazine.
I had so hoped you would be the one
to get to the pages
no one has read before.
from March, 2001 edition