That Italo Calvino book bought on your Italian honeymoon The Beckett play in its original French, got during your chaotic year in Paris That Jhumpa Lahiri which impressed as much as (E.) Annie Proulx, narratives sure in their detail and texture And somewhere there's a pile of Pynchon from the test of your first marriage, oh and the Edward Abbey tomes from your second merging... Lately, you wonder if it's time to prune, to edit the shelves and dust off the titles, thus revealing that which survives a purge of literature (if never of memory).
Artist’s note: write what you know! 😉 Poem was written on Dec 26, 2024, further revised today.
Some books last forever!❤️