To the Barnes & Noble in State College — or really, any Barnes & Noble anywhere.
Indie bookshops have great charm, but among the corporate chains, there’s no one like B&N. (Well, literally. There’s practically no one else left in business…)
THE BOOKSTORE
Windows, wide, stretching the length
of this hall, brilliant
glass, radiant
with light and heat and the dance
of dust in the beams
and dust on the books
and dust on the shelves of the books
stretching the length of this hall.
Steaming strong coffee, dark
as the window is bright and bitter
as the cookies are sweet and plain
as the books are vivid and finite
as the shelves are endless.
Chatter, constant yet
quiet, a laugh, a rebuttal,
a sip, a keyboard’s sudden rattle,
another laugh, a beep,
and children’s feet beating
the floor.
A wonderland of words, an idyll
for intellectuals, and a temptation
for the traveling taleteller,
the one who traveled from the side of her wide
open notebook, blank and brilliant
paper radiant with possibility
for light and heat and the dance
of fantastic worlds
stretching the length of the mind—
yes, a distraction from the steaming
long hours, dark
as the window is bright, bitter
as the cookies are sweet, plain
as these books are vivid, and futile
as these shelves are endlessly fruitful.
