Caroline Carlton - November 14, 2019
Remember when You were young, a book upon your bedside,
begging for another short while, ignoring your father’s chide?
Window open, a gentle breeze, geese honk across the pond
with a sigh, he picks it up, regrettably so fond.
removing the bookmark
Together We embark,
On journeys and adventures long after bedtime.
thin chapter books of prose and rhyme-
Dahl’s writings most especially,
A giant peach and a sticky tree- etched into your memory.
peering o’er the massive shoulder,
is Junie B. Jones, as You behold her.
Jack and Annie, they appear too,
though not half as often as Fern and the Zuckerman zoo.
sometimes it’s Ma, Pa, Laura, and Mary,
though your father prefers Snicket’s works and a dork’s diary.
Pictures so intriguing, You must sit up and look,
but long days tire and You settle to imagine the book.
Too soon, he says You’ve stayed up far too late
and closing the book, he swears to finish another date.
Claiming not tired and hiding Your content,
You beg for another, but this time he will not be bent.
the lamp goes off and the book away,
On the nightstand, awaiting the next day.