books on the sofa,
my bed,
strewn across the kitchen table,
and stacked on the window’s ledge.
Pages turned and marked haphazardly
with bookmarks,
paper scraps,
folded book covers,
and even pens.
Left open like a half-finished thought-
read at varying paces.
Just one is never enough.
half-read books stored in many places.
Bringing Mae Flowers 