Writing in Progress from Becca Harris

The first encounter

Fingers trace lumps and gnarled cracks
lingering;

a musky smell sits heavily in the air
where small objects glitter –

a sun dance upon covers
elegantly decorated in gold.

Sitting among the collection is like being among treasure. Delving into an exploration, considering them not as books but objects stripped of their usual context, we are drawn into an experience of the life of an object.

Stretched fingers hover, then land,
discover traces of the making,

sweep from cover to cover;

binding that frays, loosening at its edge

a faint and smudged thumbprint –

someone has been here;
a thin crease – the top right hand corner
bookmarked.

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