Last night I dreamt
that their names came alive,
floating down from my shelves
transforming into glorious embodiments
of their previous forms; lords, ladies, lovers and friends -
My footsteps creaked on the cold planks
as laughter rose like a flute's pure notes,
skipping along the vaulted ceiling,
arching overhead leaving behind a trail of stars -
Light bounced off the frame
as the smooth handle turned,
bathing me in a gentle warm glow,
carried by the current of a hundred years -
They were sat either side
of the longest oak table,
my place was reserved,
a throne for their host -
I don't think I had a point of realisation,
the knowledge was always there,
an innate awareness weaved into my mind,
clarity and logic together entwined-
These people were not strangers
but friends from before.
It was their books I had chosen
afternoons dawdling in charity shops-
It was their pen and ink I had traced
with my finger in the soft autumn light,
lingering over the pages,
turned golden by time-
I had brought them here,
for years they had grown accustomed to me,
my habits, my ways,
sitting in rows leaning one against another-
Through their bindings,
their stories had seeped through,
leaking into each other,
colliding and separating -
The song started lightly seeping into my ears,
louder it grew and grew,
a raucous noise both beautiful and strong,
a song just for me.
Painting by Jules Grun.
© 2011 Charlotte Chase
