No Disposals

David Howard

LET THERE BE

As our library increased in size and prestige there was less opportunity for those who kept to themselves, rarely venturing from the basement stacks. After all, stars are stars because they are seen. We couldn’t hold a candle to them.
The word came from above, it always does. Perhaps noon reduces shadows so much that grow and go look the same to the brightest?
They sent us into the world, where one good book among many claimed there was endless space made by the best words ever.
On the last day of the financial year a New York Times bestseller visited our apple box: ‘I love what you’ve done with the space,’ it said recto turning green and verso yellow, ‘where do you go for repairs?’
‘We lie open to the sky,’ I replied, ‘some nights we become illuminated manuscripts.’