Pages Still Unfolding

In the hush between the stacks,
where whispered knowledge hums,
we’ve watched you shelve bright visions,
building kingdoms out of crumbs.
You cataloged our questions,
inked answers in the air,
tucked hope into each margin—
left fingerprints of care.

Now the bookmark lifts, mid-chapter,
and a brand-new story calls:
a grander hall of learning
with fresh corridors and walls.
Go, trace those uncut pages,
let possibility unfurl;
bind dreams in sturdy covers
for another eager world.

Yet know that here—between these aisles—
our memories still glow:
late-night planning, laughter shelved
where only colleagues know.
We’ll keep those dog-eared moments,
their comfort soft and worn,
a well-loved, shared anthology
we’ll open when we mourn.

So turn the page with courage,
write boldly, line by line;
the lore you leave behind us
makes every footnote shine.
Our chapter’s last italics read:
“Thank you—see you again,”
for stories cross like constellations—
and ours will meet again.

 

* The poem is dedicated to a librarian whom I had the honor of serving.