Librarians


For a day I was a librarian,
and carried out all sorts 
of librarian duties,
 
catalogued a whole poetry section,  
reshelved books from philosophy 
to biography.
 
And I tell you, it was an honour 
to be a custodian of books, 
to assign a proper call number, 
 
to survey the inside cover 
and record all the details 
from where and when it was published 
to who wrote the introduction,
 
and really, I can see why librarians 
turn out to be the hot ones,
 
all that text, knowledge and care 
mixed into one delicious body. 
 
 



White Crocuses


This morning, white clusters of crocuses 
on an abandoned hill in a park,
home to discarded plastic bags,
last summer’s takeout and fallen
branches from countless storms,
weeds already growing tall,
and yet here are the white crocuses
among all this chaos – their crisp
pointed petals and bright yellow centers.
The dog sniffs hopefully before stepping
on them in pursuit of some new scent.
 
This evening, the air is fresh, not unfriendly,
and when we get to the abandoned hill,
the crocuses are buds again –
so tightly closed, like rolled white cloth.
 
So often in the evenings 
something like unease wraps around us.
Even the flowers know to fold in on themselves,
to ponder the meaning of their existence
in the confines of their dark dwellings.