A poem about my love of books.
They Comfort Me
“Surrounded by...her books,”
the young man said
when speaking of the death
of his mother, Jackie O.
I like to imagine her favorite fictional characters
stepping out of the pages and
filling in the empty spaces
around the circumference of her bed.
That's how I want to go.
I want to look into the eyes
of Allesandro Guiliani
(both the young one on his horse
and the old one on his final journey).
I want Nancy and Ned, Scout and Jem,
Jenny and Robbie
from a croft in the Cheviot hills,
Emmanuel Comte and little Evelyn,
and Maxim's wife
(who will tell me her name).
I want the newcomer, Garnet Ferrari,
and Peter Lake, hanging from a star.
Huw Morgan will pray over me
and before my eyes close
one final time, I want to see
a strange-looking cat
in a very tall hat hat
speaking once more in the voice
of the woman who gave me life
as he leads me back into her arms.