Friday, April 24, 2015


I recently counted my books and discovered I had too many. I cannot read all the books that I own. What can I do with them? I can read a page or two and put them down. I can read a paragraph while I am on hold waiting on the telephone for the plumber to answer. I can read the back of them while the peas are boiling on the stove. I can give them away to my friends. I can tell my friends that they can have more and give them to their friends. I can prop open the front door with some and then take others and throw them out the door. Sometimes there is a crow who makes a terrible cawing sound at night in the tree outside my window, and I can throw a book at him. 

Of course I can have children and give them all to my children. I can have grandchildren. I can have grandparents. I can build a fireplace. I can build a match. I can build a fire. I can try to make all of the books rhyme by title. Or by weight. I can say: it’s a beautiful day today, just like all of my books always say, because 

It is a beautiful day. Today. It is too beautiful to read, today. And so I build rocks outside made of sand. And underneath the sand I bury books on top of the rocks. I bury books near the birds. I say None of Your Business to people who pass by and asks me what I am doing with a shovel and a casket. Or I say Please Come Inside And Help Yourself To Anything You Find - on the floor, in the closet, on the mantel, on the staircase, on the bed, in the bathroom, near the window, anything that I am holding, anything I own, to anyone I know, anyone I don't. This is what I will do. I have never done this before. I can only do this once.

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