when you bump into her
at the public library
looking for that book you’ve been meaning to read
(no direction home
the bob dylan biography)
and you knock every one
of the books
out of her arms
(there are eight of them
they are thick
and advanced-looking
and the girl is small
can’t be maybe thirteen years old)
and you say
“i’m so sorry.”
and eventually
get into a long discussion
about douglas adams
you have no idea
about how
she has her own key
to the library bathroom
she visits that much
or about how
sometimes she calls the librarians
at their houses
just to talk.
you don’t know
about how bad
the kids at her school can be
or about
how safe she feels here
with all the books
voices
philosophy
wisdom
surrounding her
and you don’t know
how much you made her day
how long she smiled after you left
(three hours)
all you know is
she was nice
and douglas adams
he writes good books
and you
well you
you never did
get that bob dylan biography