overdue

when i have
no where else left
i can rest i
will come back to
apologize-- crawl
hands & knees into
the return slot
at the library up
the street from 
my parent's house--
the library where
i'm terribly overdue--
rubbing stamp
faded from
my spine-- 
can you still read
the date i was
supposed to come
back?
somewhere 
in june 2012--
dead of night 
when the angles
walk on the fourth floor
& the children's books
flap their pages
in an attempt to
perch on higher shelves--
i put my finger 
to my lips to 
hush them as the romance
novels try
to serenade me &
i explain that 
i'm "mostly gay" &  
am uninterested in
what they have
to offer-- 
i use my phone as a flash
light-- 
the water fountain
will offer to baptize 
me before
i go to sleep--
i want to feel as
light as a paperback--
i didn't mean to
to be away so long--
i meant to return myself
years ago on
one of those haphazard 
afternoon
when i drove back
to kutztown--
i'm in
the process of
digging up roots &
finding clay pots
to re-plant them in--
each time
i come back i find
more-- in the carpet
of the dollar tree--
thick veins--
hear beat beneath
the sidewalks--
this town throbs
in me like 
bruise-- 
sky turning egg plant
out the windows--
is that the sun coming 
up  already?
i find a shelf to
curl up on--
back towards
the room like
a good book-- i'm
near the cook books
& one aisle over
i can make
out the monsterous
body of the encyclopedia
growling--
hungry for
more definitions--
he bites
down on the dictionary--
bleeding nouns--
black letters on
the blue carpet--
i know it is best
to stay still so
as to not disturb
him as he works--
who knew the acquisition
of language
was such a violent
task-- a page
turned scar--
i rest my head
on the shoulder
of the book beside
me & she laughs--
she kisses my forehead 
& recites
a recipe for
tikka masala-- a lullaby--
i put my arm
around her &
turn to one of
my poems written
on a rib--
she adores it--
she tells me i should
sleep & 
in the morning
i'll wake up to
the sound of lighting
gradually 
turning my
pages
yellow & brittle--
the dictionaries
say their prayers
as i turn
to my flyleaf
page to rest--