My Best Friends, My Books
by MFrostDelaney

My books are all in boxes now.
They’re waiting for the move.
I don’t know why, or even how
I packed them first. To prove,

I guess, that I will go to where
it’s safer – so they say.
Abandon here, my years of care …
the hutch, the window bay,

the driveway with its winter snow
I shovel and don’t mind,
the sun through window panes aglow –
leave it all behind …

the silence of the early morn,
the radiator’s heat,
the room where I brought my first-born,
its cushioned window seat.

I can’t take all my treasured stuff.
A “care home” surely robs
me of my things I’ve saved. Enough!
Don’t soften into sobs.

I’ll have my books, those words, that world,
the rhythm – poetry,
my comfy chair, so I’ll be curled
with friends, as life should be.



 

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