Poetry Sunday: The Bookstall by Linda Pastan
I think Linda Pastan's poem speaks for all of us who find solace in books. For life is continuous as long as they wait to be read—these inked paths opening into the future, page after page, every book its own receding horizon. The Bookstall by Linda Pastan Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open—that one and that—and I make my choice in a mood of exalted luck, browsing among them like a cow in sweetest pasture. For life is continuous as long as they wait to be read—these inked paths opening into the future, page after page, every book its own receding horizon. And I hold them, one in each hand, a curious ballast weighting me here to the earth.