Her downcast eyes grab me,
along with her polka-dot blouse,

but it’s the red-covered book
in her hands that instantly makes

me want to talk to her, ask what
she’s reading, and what a shame

about the graffiti across her head,
though she doesn’t appear to mind,

absorbed as she is in the open pages.
I know the feeling well, hating to be

dragged away from a book that’s
seized me, demanding my attention.

Everything—the busy downtown
corner, the smell of teriyaki chicken

trying to seduce the hungry—fades
into the rising midday heat because

we simply have to know what happens
next. There’s no putting it down

or turning off the light because it’s
late and past time to sleep. There’s

only the aliveness of a good story
that opens, lifts and enlightens

the one fortunate to have fallen in,
never wanting to leave.