I'd Hold You By Your Shelves

If I really wanted to get to know you
I'd come and stand in front of your shelves.
I would gaze and run my fingers along the spines that formed yours.
The reasons you love this and hate that; the source of so many longings, connections and beliefs.
Your whys and hows.
I'd look longer at the decrepit bindings, the paperbacks betraying your awe wonder and worship with creased backs, thickened by dog-eared pages.
I'd ask why each single one. And when I got to the one where you said, "This one. This one is my favorite" and could not cheapen the why with words
That one I would read and so hold. So know. So love.
Your shelves betray you. Your depth. Your color. Your care.
I'd hug my knees to my chest. Sit against the wall. Not hearing fingers against page nor any noise so foreign.
Only the sound of having you close.
Because like Francie knows, holding and understanding are all rolled up into one.
I'd hold you by your shelves.
My book lover, I'd hold you by your shelves.

"I need someone. I need to hold somebody close. And I need more than this holding. I need someone to understand how I feel at a time like now. And the understanding must be part of the holding."
  -Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn