Downsizing
Olivia Dawson
My books are my safe place
but my daughter thins my shelves,
colour matches spines, says tidy homes
sell houses I shudder at reds all in a row,
and Penguin Classics clashed with acid greens,
quiver at this new (dis)order unsettling my space.
She says there's a book-bin every Monday
that the books aren't pulped but I've seen
dealers pick bundles at random,
dump leftovers in church porches.
I'm scared Rebecca will be abandoned
and restyled as a handbag,
although maybe it would be a thrill to hold
her ghost concertinaed into a tote
and smuggled into my new home,
slipped unseen amongst my mementos.
Olivia Dawson