The storm reminded me of
exotic foods like jelly
and uncomfortable things like
moth-ballsy-tweed and chalky milks.
My refuge was a smoke-stained poncho
and a world of make-believe,
but that was 40 years ago.
I’ve loved old books since I was little
and many times I’ve wished
for an elbow-patch savior
to rise from the stacks
and carry us to a place of quiet abandon.
I know there’s always a mess
after a storm; I just hope there’s bread.