Back to the Stack

The light went out an hour ago

but I didn't want to leave the chair.

The ending came on slow and low

and left me sitting in the air.

I closed the cover on the ghost

and felt the room begin to grow.

The thing that really hurts the most

is having nowhere left to go.

On the back page, the ink is thick,

a pile of stamps in jagged blue.

The library won't care if I'm sick

of being done with something new.

The dates all overlap and blur,

a history of hands I’ll never know.

The spine is cracked, the pages stir,

and I am just another row.