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.


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