Reading
by Elizabeth White

My mother first opened the door of the page.
Sitting on her lap I heard the steady road
of words. She took me to where rabbits
wore shoes, the moon kissed rooms as it went by,
and children could fly.

By eleven I'd ridden the prairie
with Captain Call and fought for a conch
on an island full of boys. Words were made
of glass, each page became a window,
sometimes warmed.

On my own I traveled miles along the lines.
Each night I stood at the last word
and looked further into the distance.
I curled between words and slept
beneath the overhang of the last line.
Mornings I was off before light.

My friends stayed in TV's crowded room,
and by twelve I'd left them behind. I had entered
and would forever be in
the warmer world of the mind.

Please send us your comments, including the name of the work you are commenting on.

Copyright © 1999-2003 by Amarillo Bay. All rights reserved.
Individual works are copyrighted by their authors.