An Old Man’s Treasure Hunt

in the back of a stone room, windowless & cold,
air stale & heavy as iron,
a man leans his head against the wall
with a book raised to eye level;
a man with a mind like a steel trap
(much like the one his body found itself in).
beside him, on the floor next to the leg of his bunk,
sit stacks & stacks of books,
books fingered through in the dark,
books handled delicately by rough men.
no matter how many pages he turns
he can never find what he’s looking for;
a letter from his daughter,
wallet sized photos of his four grandchildren,
their forgiveness.
some sign they know he’s there,
searching for them
within the glow of other men’s stories.

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Categories: Poetry, UncategorizedTags: , , , , , , ,

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