"BIBLIOFILA" or "BOOK LOVER"

                            BIBLIOFILA - BOOK LOVER

When I was very young
and floating on enchanted air
which Puerto Rico to me was
my abuelita (little grandma) sent me on my way
to walk swiftly to be fitted
by the local costurera for school uniforms one day
saying "Don't dilly-dally. Come back soon."

As I in wonderment took in everything my curious eyes alighted on
it was then I saw two magic words that I just had to follow to their end
                                BIBLIOTECA CARNEGIE

And I have never been the same!

          I had to turn my books in to the
          library this week
          I had no choice
          I've clung to them
          for nearly two years now

          The only reason, maybe two
          I've not been penalized
              (This all may change because of people just like me)
          is that my library card says "staff"
          providing us the privilege
          of never getting fined
              (It seems unfair, we probably should)
          The other reason is that I'm
          most likely to be drawn
          to books that other people
          are more likely to shun
          which means that they do not have lists
          of patrons waiting breathlessly
          for my discovered treasures
          to be speedily returned

          But I, as usual, do digress
          I know it makes no sense
                                        but I     
                                of this
                          can't
                  easily
          speak

          These books are my children
              I never understood
                    how true this is for me
                        until yesterday

          I've had four books of Spanish poetry
          with which    from which
          I  sim  ply  could  not  get  my  self  to  part

          For one month now
          with pressure from the library staff
          I gathered these
          my doted upon baby loves
          to be returned to their
          not cruel but indifferent
          foster parents
          and each day I forgot
              (I really did)
          to join them to the rest of my
              (with which I nearly break my back)
          ambulatory library

          They finally made their way
          to-the-corner-of-my-office-desk
          and there they beautifully reposed
          to lovingly be gazed at and softly to be fondled
          as each day I departed homeward bound

          No longer could I put this off
          The time had come when I must take
          the      longest      longest      walk
          to that place where they once more
          must rightfully reside

I find myself defined in the Webster Dictionary as something called a bibliophile
My sweet, beloved husband, Frank, who's, by the way, by profession librarian, says 
    "No. You're really just a bibliofool."
but in my simple inference, I fail to note the difference
 
          I gently cradled my offspring
          and resolutely sprinted through
                            right past the circulation desk                                     
          on to the desk of my friend Daniel Andrew
          with tearful eyes and woefully
          for what I had no choice but do
          entreating his kind pity

          Though occupied, he, being good
          looked so concerned, looked so alarmed
          at his friend's doleful plight
          and though I knew
          that there was nothing he could do
          I, in that instant, recognized his silent empathy
          and nothing more did I need
          to fully understand
          that these, my children, belong to all
          that they are home and with good folk
          and in whose care
          I unreservedly can trust
          as I slowly, softly, tenderly
                    into their waiting hands
                              my trembling hearts
                                                            release

By Marta Esperanza Edgcombe
Sunday, March 7, 1999

                    I gratefully acknowledge Robert R. Goodhart, Grounds Director at
                    Christopher Newport University, Newport News, Virginia, for inspiring
                    this poem. At a campus-wide staff meeting he spoke lovingly and 
                    passionately of the beauty of Canadian geese in flight, suggesting
                    that their likeness be used as the center of a fountain to be built on
                    the campus quad. His enthusiasm reminded me of how I felt about
                    the written word. His dream WAS realized.