The spine of the book must be broken
to be open to be useful
to be full.

Preserved, pristine,
shelved, admired,
untouched, unsoiled,
this is embarrassement.
These are the volumes pointless and sad.

Bent edges, torn pages, brown stains, stuck leaves–
all this is yes.
I've done something, says the book.
I've changed someone.
I've been spent well.
I've been worn all the way to reborn.

Text and image © 2010 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.