books and such

I couldn't sleep the other night, and somehow got to thinking about what's in my bookcase. I've weeded, but the desire to pare down doesn't stay satisfied.

I got the idea I should be well acquainted with all the books on my shelf, and that they should be useful to me. I turned on a light and grabbed two: Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, and a poetry book, all sonnets.

The Ann Voskamp I have read twice. The question is - do I need to keep it? I probably need to read it again before deciding.  What is she trying to say? And should I keep the book around in order to be reminded of it? Or let it go to the next person?

As for the sonnets, I began reading them right away, in the middle of the night. I started penciling marks near the ones I liked, and finished it off at the dentist's this afternoon. I guess I should keep it, at least for a while. I've just never been one for poetry. But here's one:

 Dipped in detergent, dish and chandelier retrieve

their glister, sopped, kitchen floor reflowers, knife

rubbed with cork unrusts, colors of carpetweave

cuffed with shampooer and vacuum will reblush,

prints sprayed and scrubbed no longer peer but stare,

buffed, silver burns, brushed, plaster will gush

hue at you, tops soothed with cloth will clear.

Cleansing the cloud from windows, I let the world win.

It comes in, and its light and heat heave the house,

discolour, dim, darken my surfaces. Then once again,

as for forty years, my fingers must make them rouse.

Round rooms of surfaces I move, round board, books, bed.

Men carve, dig, break, plunge as I smooth, shine, spread.

Caring for Surfaces,  by Mona Van Duyn