I’m merely a bookmark, diligently holding the place in his anthology.
Clean-cut ribbon, a proud baby blue— not to be confused as his baby As he turns his pages, I follow And when he turns off the lamp, I hold onto the most recent page. I wait there for hours, days, and weeks Patient for the next time he peels open the leather binding. I skip forward pages, sometimes chapters at a time But the more I’m moved, the more my edges get frayed Looking slightly tattered, I slip toward the bottom of page 438 There’s a change in tone in the pages to come. I’m pulled from the page carelessly and one of my threads gets caught The words on the page turn dark but not quite medieval; He’s through with what he’s known before. Recreation— no reinvention is stirring. I slowly unravel. I’m stuffed back into a page and then everything goes dark. I’ve been holding the “call for change” page And I lose track of the days. My patience isn’t reflected in my appearance; My baby blue is a stale, tired blue Laced with dust along my edges. Opened 7 months, possibly a year later I am disheartened to see a Kindle illuminated on his desk. He didn’t simply replace the marker that was growing tired, He converted systems. He corrupted the art of flipping pages in the sun, Annotating with pen, making little smudges of character in spots. He is giving up: the sound of turning paper, the faint breeze created from a swift turn, the smell of a well-seasoned, leather-bound book. But most of all, he’s giving up holding a ribbon; A seemingly miniscule piece of material with a smooth finish through his freckled index and middle fingers. Holding that ribbon while pondering the words of his present season of life And letting that ribbon hold him the place that he’s at. Regardless of how grim this chapter or section, His ribbon held tight —persevered because she always knew there was a new leaf to turn, A new paragraph to start, A new theme to delve into. But now, a new chapter —no! Edition has been written. A new avenue to pursue, Which has no use for ribbon, pages, or print. No he didn’t reinvent, He replaced. He upgraded And didn’t dare look back. He found better, alone. And to think I unraveled when he held me then.
2 Comments
Lauren
1/12/2018 08:44:44 pm
Oh my gosh. This was amazing.
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dates and cakes
1/15/2018 09:04:58 pm
Thank you so much, Lauren! I even took the picture;)
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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