Serendipity

'tis from a while ago. 'tis about Pollyanna - a book I first read when I was 9 and have read many times since. 'tis a really, really beautiful book. If you haven't read it, please, please do.

I found you
on a tired bookshelf.

You were nestled comfortably, quietly
between the covers of a gold-lettered Chekov
and an unexpectedly-painted Saki.
I know, because the Saki had tilted over
ever so slightly to lean uneasily on the Chekov
while the others stood unflinching, unmoved.

Somebody had pulled you out
of your secret hiding place, in idle curiosity
and not returned you to your rightful place,
had placed you face down, instead
atop the Saki, Chekov,
Joyce and Woolf combine.

What were they thinking?
That you would lie in peace
on a bed of thorns?
That you would try valiantly, to laugh
while trying to understand complexities
in our lives that don't exist?

I picked you up,
couldn't put you back
because you caught the sunbeams in the prism
in your story and twinkled
at me: simple, hopeful, cheery, honest
reflecting the life I'm most happy living.

I hope to find you
Again. And again.