Dawning Creations

Just the other day, 
I stepped into the shop near home.
I viewed a familiar library
through the glass.

I was brought back in an instant.

The chatting clerk and customers,
the white washed walls and glass windows
dissolved before me.

We were in a circular room.
An array of brightly colored books
veered down at us from the worn shelves.

One book in particular
we always returned to,
Oh, The Places You’ll Go.

We’d adopt a table
and you would read to me
in all different tones.
I would cheer, my tiny hands clapping
or tracing along as you read.

As I learned this book,
I would chime in,
“Oh the places you’ll go,”we’d read loudly
and fill the room with our laughter.

Even as young as I was,
the memory is vibrant and clear in my mind.

The smell of the books,
the crinkle of the plastic wrapped
binding all encase my senses sweetly.
I could see you opening the book,
the sloppy scribbles of names,
the reds, blacks, blues of pens, signing the
return card.

It was my turn to check out in line too quickly,
tearing me from my memory.
The clerk looked at me strangely.
I hadn’t felt the happy tears sprinkling my sweater
or the crooked smile on my lips.