Libraries by Maddy Carr

Quiet washes over its inhabitants, The threshold becomes a portal between worlds. Thoughts do not drift down a river, They strengthen like a riptide, Waves crashing against the rocks. They hold life. A tree at the center filled with knowledge, Branches out in all directions. The roots ground us in history, Branches yield creativity and growth, Leaves are poetry, short stories, and novels, Giving us oxygen. They are humanity. We are reminded of who we were, And who we want to be.

All consuming, Those who dare to pick up one of its many volumes, Are transported into Heathcliff’s Heights, Madeline’s Monterey, Or Offred’s Gilead. A lover sweeps them off their feet, Unable to let go until the last page turns. Computers are tucked into backpacks, Keys rattle, Notebook pages chatter against each other as they shut. Footsteps thump one by one, Until the door opens. The body goes into shock as Ears adjust from the glare. As daily life resumes, So do the temptations to return.

—Maddy Carr ’22