The Library (a poem)

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• The Library (a poem)

by Maggie Mathews

People call me a bookworm. . .
Browsing quietly like a haunting spirit,
searching for my satisfaction,
A book
For me a place I can go, leave all my worries,
And have the power not to emerge.
I can get lost in those printed words,
My escapes.
The room where I go so far but stay is simple.
My favorite library room.
The arched watery windows,
Sunlight filtering through,
Shining in places like a quilt just made.
But the middle,
Oh the middle,
Painted wondrous clouds.
Painted therapy I call it.
The finest spot. . .
The chair,
A comfortable, embroidered chair, with book-pictures.
I bet if they were real, I could go a thousand places.
Think of it.
I have gone everywhere in that chair, that room.
I have visited France with Nancy Drew.
England with Harry Potter,
Brookfield, Wisconsin with the Quiner Family.
Everywhere, in the library
In that room,
In that chair,

Everywhere.

Maggie Mathews, Grade 7, Cape Cod Lighthouse Charter School, May 2000