Roadside Library

by Ciaran Parkes

Roadside Library   by Ciaran Parkes

I'm captured, scrolling through the stories
on my newsfeed, by a photograph
of a roadside library, a wooden box attached
to a bus shelter. I'd like to zoom in

and see what books are there. The caption
tells me it's Israel. It looks sunny. I can see
what might be olive trees. People
are lying on the road and on the footpath,

more relaxed than sleepers would be, as if
they're all caught up so deeply in the middle
of a book they've forgotten where there are
for the moment, letting their bodies sink

into what should feel hard to them. I notice
how neat the shelved books are, a little
oasis of peace, civility. They're asking
to be taken out, enjoyed. They don't mind

if sunlight swells their pages, if their spines
crack from being handled roughly, making
them lie spread out like used-up offerings,
on the ground, with broken paper wings.