A bookshelf
to some,
a bookshelf,
is pieces of wood,
constructed and cut
for household decor.
to others,
it holds,
and supports
all those childhood novels,
young adult literature,
those genuine moments in time,
with its clean-cut lines,
and
the simplicity
of angular white corners.
no matter,
how old a bookshelf becomes,
its spirit can overcome age.
a bookshelf,
is like a safe,
without the lock,
holding something precious
and open to anyone.
the smooth wood,
with no dents
or blemishes,
except for one little spot hidden behind a book,
a crack in the wood,
where the nail missed the mark.
though the imperfection,
the shelf still stands.
clean, spotless
planks of wood
the sturdiness
as it holds,
a life story.
I can see that when they were five,
they read Junie B. Jones,
a spunky six year old with a unique way
of interpreting the world
letting you know that the world is interesting when
viewed a different way.
and Shel Silverstein poems,
the outcome of letting your imagination,
spark and run wild
makes you realize that it's wondrous to have an imagination.
with a poem about a lightbulb and the sun,
and someone who ate the world.
and up on a higher shelf,
I see now that they read Maximum Ride,
a girl trying to save the world and interpret her own life,
and The Sky is Everywhere.
a world about sadness, love, and renewal,
the harshness of reality,
and the brightness of a side we never knew we had.
so bookshelves are not
just pieces of wood,
constructed and cut
for household decor.
they hold the wonders of our lives,
and not just literature,
but our memories
and our thoughts
our past selves
those shelves of wood help shape who we are
so we may look back,
and remember
who we were,
and who we are now
