I walked to the DOER spines. For “All The Light We Cannot See”.
There was only “About Grace” on the shelf. I took one of three.
Maroon sheets, queen, wooly blanket, double, two black pillows, lying,
Holding words from the building past the fort.
On chapter five, though it didn’t feel right, only thirteen pages, light.
I decided that I would take the book back tonight.
I put on my jeans. Coffee before I go. Book, front and back flat
On the table. Sugar in my cup. Waiting to cover with cream, the black.
I read while the drink was spat, Chapter 6, 7, Part Two, Three.
Dreams. I was taught they had no credibility.
My coffee is cold,
The touch of the pages, old.
Anthony, your story of water and ice, elements of me,
I didn’t intend for it so. Take it back, now, please, please, please.
While I dump
The coffee down the drain and make new, and read the rest of you.
Doerr, Anthony. About Grace. Scribner. New York: 2004.