Michael Estabrook, 10/12




The Brewster’s Ladies’ Library started

by two ladies 150 years ago

is still going strong. My mother

volunteers there, holds the record

for the most volunteer hours worked

during the year.


“I love this place,” she says

as we leave the book stacks and wander back

into the newspaper reading room

with its musty newspaper smell. An old man

in a heavy brown coat, slouched down

like a crumpled walrus in a big leather chair,

doesn’t even glance up from his newspaper

as we enter the room.


But I can see the slight smile

as he overhears my mother’s reverent voice

talking about the library, with its quiet corners

and sacred spaces. “I love this place,”

she says again as she takes

my arm, the color rising in her cheeks.

My dad would be proud of her I think,

taking such good care

of all these books.

Promote. Poetry.
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