You have so kindly bought me two new editions of my favorite book.
You have let this old thing share our bed for decades now.
One is a beautiful copy; its leather binding speaking to the age of the words that reside between the supple covers.
The other is a paper-back, easy to fold; easy to annotate andso comfortable to carry in a backpack.
I am so sorry that they are gathering dust now,
next to all of those old copies of nineteenth century English novels
we read, side by side, soon after you and I moved in together.
This tattered wreck of a book was young and full of promise then.
I can’t let this old book go-
I know the pages are yellowed and crumbling with age.
I know the corners are dog-eared from all the backpacks and back pockets.
But the rubber bands hold the pages together in an embrace and not one has been lost.
There are so many more promises to keep; how could I let it go now?
Holding together my notes, my thoughts, and the memories of all my travels
that I have shared with you
through all of our years together.