He barely made eye contact.
Dismissive.
I’m sure it’s very entertaining,
But what about stretch?
Internally processing a scroll of emojis:
The grimace. The face melt. The head explosion.
My mind finds the bookmarks of their childhoods,
Indexed at the envy
Of the Dewey Decimal System.
The six year olds curled up with their dad,
Absorbing ‘Harry Potter’, all of them.
A question and answer with Holly Webb
Then queuing, books clutched, to be signed.
Five year olds lost in a kaleidoscope
‘Rainbow Magic’, three every night…
Dad again… he did the voices better.
Librarians lavishing their love
Letting them stamp books,
Turning a blind eye to those
Lost, or late, or liberated.
Four year olds word perfect,
Lilting through Donaldson.
Three: ‘Meggie Moon’ over and over again,
And ‘Dogger’.
Two year olds, wrapped around Nan,
‘We’re going on a Bear Hunt’,
Which of them loved that one more?
One and new
As those yet-to-be chewed
Cardboard books
Waiting… waiting….
To begin that book long love.
‘Dear Zoo’, ‘Spot’…
They hadn’t met you yet.
I couldn’t see ahead, at that parents evening,
But if I could, I’d have seen High School done,
Felt the fever flash flood of fiction
Sating minds like the pre school days.
I’d hear us push open the door to a bookshop
– quirky, magical yet to be discovered,
Waiting to breathe books into their adulthood…
…Sorry, I got distracted…
STRETCH. I was asking about, for vocabulary.
What was the book called again?
(What about joy? Connection? Love?)
My mind settles on the eye roll emoji.
‘The Hate U Give.’