wide-eyed excitement as I read and re-read
the Scholastic Books brochure and begged
my mother to let me add “just one more” to the order

my second grade teacher, sorting the boxes
upon their arrival,

(I remember staring at boxes labeled “Scholastic” on her desk, knowing what they were, and thinking of nothing else through the day, dreaming of the contents–desperate for her to divvy up the treaure)

then, finally, sorting the order and laying a stack of
books on my desk, my upturned face radiant as a new communicant

a simple joy, discovery, adventure,
laughter and fright,
animal stories, and books
about UFOs

I didn’t know it at the time,
but this early introduction to books
formed, to a not insignificant degree,
the basis of my life-journey

riding my bike to the library,
searching through the card catalog,
browsing the stacks,
bringing armfuls of books to heavy
wooden tables,
turning the pages, 
uncovering new universes

I still have some of these Scholastic Books–
were you to offer me these or the keys
to a Lambourgini, 
you could keep the Lambo

the words leapt from the pages
into my brain and heart
and memory,
connecting neurons, 
aligning quarks,
forming a consciousness
able to look 
beyond itself