Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Pages

To glimpse the sun's arc
and the horizon,
I climbed into a book
at age four, like a Tarzan
when ants emerged as tigers,
and caterpillars, caymans.
Less than three feet high,
I swung from page to page
with savage cries, grasping words,
to tumble in a heap, bawling
if interrupted.

Decades later,
not much has changed;
I still plunge inside pages
to discover how much there is,
except my wild self learned
to rise again,
clutching the tomes.


Prompt: books or beyond them, or Buzz Lightyear (“To infinity, and beyond!”)