if books could talk

books are what i know.
the shape of books
the feeling of books
the edges and the rounded and the embossed ridges
the dry, uncovered smooth hardbacks
the shiny, sleek paperbarks.
the stickers and the pages
the slight whump when they fall closed
 how many i can stack between arm and torso
or grasp between thumb and fingers in the width of a hand. 

the covers and text blocks warm from summer heat
or like ice if exposed to the cold winter air for long.
they are returned to the library still holding pieces of their borrowers
notes and old newsletters and torn receipts
the smell of cigarette smoke or baby powder or fabric softener.
if books could talk
what stories could they tell
not only the story inside
but also of what happens outside.
what a wealth of words and other worlds.

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