This house is littered with our lack of concentration,
partly-read books in every room.
Self-help and poetry on the bedside table,
several novels on the carpet
by the purple reading chair.
postcards marking our lost interest.
Cookbooks and dictionaries, limned with dust and fur,
cover dining table, sideboard, chairs,
until we need to use them,
look up a word, cook something, entertain.
On the coffee table, stacks of travel books and
magazines with articles about the places
we dream one day we’ll visit.
turning the pages of our lives
while we still can.
hoping not to leave
too many chapters partly read.