As we approach Valentine’s Day, and I am single, I thought it was appropriate to pay homage to the things in my life that I love, that make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, and provide so much inspiration and comfort.

Those things are books.

I have written a poem.


Ode to Books

How I love your weight in my hands, the colors of your spine

How your stories speak something new to me even when I’ve read you dozens of times

The fonts, the jackets, TOCs, and margins filled with my notes

Dreaming that someday, someone will be reading a book that I myself wrote.

Oh the places you take me, and the adventures we’ve had!

The men I’ve loved and lost with you, both the good and bad.

The women who’ve been friends, and I their confidante,

The “happily ever after” endings that I always want.

With my favorite stories, we act like jealous lovers;

staying up all night to steal away moments under the covers.

I hold my breath at each chapter’s end, desirous for more,

startled at any interrupting knock upon my door.


All day at work I dream of the hours we’ll later spend alone

turn off the television, the computer and the phone.

I’ll pour the wine, light the candles, and draw a hot bath,

Turn back to dog-eared pages to reread what makes me laugh.

Stacks piled high at couch corners and my bedside.

I couldn’t give any of you dear friends away, even if I tried!

The smell of your pages, some water-logged from drops in the tub,

Stains of tears, wine, coffee, or spots where chocolately-fingers rubbed.

Books – you’ve taught me love of words, worlds, people broken and inspired.

I thank mom and grandma, avid readers, who first lit flame to this fire.

This poem couldn’t quite do you justice, but I did want you to know,

I love you, Books, I owe you much, but there’s more to read, so off I go!