A Little-Known Book’s Last Request


It is not as though I came from
the printers’ only yesterday.
I know very well what becomes
of us when we are old: with luck,
we end up dog-eared, smudged, cookie
crumbs lodged in our spines, coffee cup
rings upon our covers. For some
little time we’re carried about,
insightful notations jotted
in our margins, parts of our text
underlined by the same reader
more than once, before a new book
comes along. Here at the thrift store
I hope for one more reader
and light to read by—this, although
it is enough to be well loved
and well thought of by just a few.

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