Today I have created a poem inspired from two segments of my yesterday. Firstly, I read the book 84 Charring Cross Road by Helene Hanff in a single sitting (Google it). Very charming book and definitely brought out the book love in me. Secondly, I saw perfection in a film last night. Saving Mr. Banks was stunning. It has quickly become one of my favorite movies (go see it now!). Anyways, here's one is for the readers:

I refer to it as My Bookshop,
though, of course,
it is not mine.
Nor are the spotty paged
hand-me-down books inside.
Well-worked spines,
worn in characters.
Mine are not the men
who stand, noses crammed
between lines of Ulysses and Yates.
The children who pedal through Poppins
and wander with Winnie,
they too are not mine.
But those, who these books once belonged.
Who caressed the inked pages as I have
and whose fingers urned to turn the pages
when there were none left.
They can be mine.

More later.

Love from home,

The Blonde and the Bullshit