I Remember This Book
I remember this book,
It stood with Nostromo and Typhoon,
Lord Jim in white letters
On its grayish spine.
I remember it in my father's hands,
He is lying on a couch,
Slowly turning the pages,
Entranced by Joseph Conrad.
How come I'm forty and
I still have not read it?
I'm reading it now, better later than never,
Pull it out from my dusty bookshelf,
From a cluster of Conrad's titles.
That's all that is left from my father—
My brother, I and a bunch of soft covers,
All still in a good condition.
I'm reading Lord Jim,
It captivates me by its exquisite sound,
Talks to me from its solemn pages,
Mixing grief with ironic sparkles.
All the time I see my father
With the same book on a couch.
If only I could ask him...tell him...
Perhaps he's reading over my shoulder
Smiling with satisfaction.
Sure, I don't believe it,
I know he quit reading forever,
Still he is here with me
Between the Lord Jim lines.
Irena Pasvinter earns a living by software engineering and happiness by writing. Several of her poems have been published in different corners of the Internet.