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Books I Never Opened
When father and mother
packed our belongings into crates and sailed away
from the old house they shared for years
with my paternal grandparents
its living room flanked by shelves
of gold-embossed holy books, which as a child
seemed to me had seldom been opened.
A handful of secular books, unpretentious
in their canvas covers, somehow survived
and made their way across the ocean
to a new chapter of my childhood.
Two of these sat for years
side-by-side in a built-in bookshelf
and I, immersed in robots, time machines
and space adventures, hardly gave them a thought
as they lay forgotten – rescued relics from
my parents’ past – parents who grew further apart
from each other, in their preoccupations,
their separate lives, that unbeknown to me then,
would soon part them forever.
Looking back, decades later, I can still
see those two books, one pink, the other brown,
rubbing shoulders in some closed-covered mutual act
of disregard, like strangers who pass daily on the street
wordless, avoiding eye contact, just two old books
in implausible juxtaposition:
“World Without Borders” and
“The Man Who Understood Women”
titles, each in its own way, representing a wish, un-granted
my father passed down to his son.
© Johnmichael Simon
2014
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