Bougainvilleas line the house, dedicated, stoic sentinels Ivy has replaced mortar as the only thing keeping the walls from crumbling The windows have no glass, But the rain is kept at bay by the gossamer webs of kind spiders. Inside there is no furniture – only paper tomes She sits on a pile of high school textbooks Her table, stacks of hard cover crime novels Her bed, a nest of magazines
There is no fridge or pantry – she doesn’t eat But she is not starving She devours books, has become fat on them A varied diet: science and science fiction, Fantasy, history, politics, philosophy And to nourish her soul – poetry.
She doesn’t remember her name But it doesn’t matter She is Beowulf, Boudicca, Odysseus Dorian Grey, the Lady of Shallot, She is both Hero and Leander
She never leaves, But she knows that the world is turning The sparrows in the gable tell her so And she doesn’t need it, no
She smiles, cries, and falls in love over and over With the turn of each page Her fingers have transformed into ink stains She has lived a thousand and one lives She holds them all inside her She makes them live, and they keep her alive -