When we cried, we pitied
The end of shoplifting
From the sorry bookshelves.
Such was the covenant between
The librarian and the thief.

Old age is when one cannot
Steal the same way one used to.
Can’t steal a tablet, can’t pay cash,
Can’t shed a dirty name
In a brand new town.

We who saw everything,
We who wrote on paper
And before screens, could
Turn around and point
To a word on a page.

This was how the matter was kneaded,
Bent, and painted. This was
How the word was formed,
How the dirt mirror would
Remind us one at a time.

Image credit : Christina’s World by Andrew Wyeth