The Author's Home Poem by Jenny Kalahar

A brick-encrusted building so massive
that it has an atmosphere
a weather system unto itself.
Slow to change from cold to warm
warm to cool
sometimes finding hot and staying there.
The windows perspire with the strain
of being a barrier between the world inside and out.
Wind gusts holler in the crevices
belt out harmonizing and then disagreeing chords
thunder shakes all when a stack of books falls
even two floors up
or one floor down

Internal temperatures rise with each stair step
curtains flutter with drafts
are faded at their edges
cat-furred near their bottoms.
Floors hold too much
the air holds too many words
flung there without reason
waiting for organization, as am I.
Books as chairs
Books as tables
Books as staircases to a loftier plane
Books as secret hiding places
Books as a start, as an ending
Volumes tilting toward me: Read
Acres of tomes, crying day and night
until the weather of books creates a lightning storm
flashing electrified words at me:
explore, explore, explore