The Bookstore
Poem - by Beth Cato
grief took my mind to dark places
then my body as well
as I walked one summer evening
nearly blinded by tears, sweat, and regret
when before me, a clapboard sign:
BOOK SHOPPE OPEN
COME ON IN!
I didn't have money on me but
I could no more resist a bookstore
than the sun a nightly dip in the Pacific
I pushed my way inside the stop
to be welcomed by a fuzzy mass of cat
curled upon magazines beside the door
I scratched him between the ears
to earn my passage with a purr
and only then
did I behold the other wonders before me
this bookstore, oh this bookstore
fragrant of memories and the musk
of a thousand years of aged paper,
various inks, and the sweat and tears
of readers across space and time
rainbow bindings a sinuous ripple
across shelves that extended
to cloudy ethereal realms
an interior sun casting beams
that haloed the wild-haired woman
who stood before me in a pair
of embroidered Capri-cut jeans
paired with a scarab-adorned t-shirt
for a Journey concert tour circa 1983
"what're you looking for?" she asked
her smile as careworn and ready to help
as my nightstand bookmark back home
the words 'I don't know' came to mind
but I knew them for a lie
I wasn't one to talk to strangers, ever
I guess my mom's strident advice about that
lasted well past age five
this woman was no stranger, though
she'd read me as sure
as she'd read every book on these shelves
"my grandma died today," I said
"I couldn't afford to go back home
when she fell sick, and now
I can't make the funeral, either,
because my husband can't get time off
and me flying with our son
is too much expense and stress,
and I wish..."
I wished a thousand things
in that brief moment
without voicing a single one
the bookseller, she nodded
and motioned me to follow
I did so as closely
as dog tail to dog
through a labyrinth across
eras and eons and big bangs
to stand in a children's section
where paperbacks with creased spines
and mysterious stains huddled together
as if for warmth
the bookseller watched with clasped hands
as I pulled familiar books
into my desperate embrace
"I remember reading this as a library book
after school, as Grandma
reread one of her Louis L'Amour novels
in a nearby chair, and oh, this one--"
these books wore the
inked names of strangers
upon their first pages
with the pride of an old-time sailor
brandishing a first tattoo
I didn't recognize a single name
but I knew these past caretakers for
kindred spirits
who had loved books I'd loved
and passed them onward to be loved again
the bookseller helped me carry two armfuls
to the front desk as I babbled
"this series, I found at a used bookstore
and spent like the next hour
camped against Grandma's pillowy purse
as she shopped the whole mystery section,
and these horse stories! I read them during
our horrible family trip
up to Sacramento, and this hardcover,
I have in paperback in some box
back in my parents' house
but I don't know when I'll make it back
and I can't wait to read it again"
as I set down my stack I realized
"my wallet's back home!
I wasn't planning to--"
the bookseller shook her head
"no one plans to shop these shelves
this store's here when needed most
when these books are needed most
"from the sound of things right now
you don't need to dwell on regrets
that itch like a hundred mosquito stings
"you need indirect memories
times when comfort came in the coziness
of a plush lap and hugging arms
not in direct eye contact or dramatic events
you need old friends"
she laid her hand atop the books
"heroines with quick wit and winged horses
in worlds where animals talk
and rainbows chase away the rain"
"but how should I pay?" I asked
as I gave the door-guard cat a chin rub
"it's paid," she said
opening a ledger marked by
two score signatures and near as many decades
the final line bearing Grandma's cursive
her loops sure and strong as in
the years before her eyes clouded
after near a century of use
oh oh oh
Grandma could write again
even more, she could read
"I hope she bought books for herself, too"
was all I could think to say
as I cradled a brown bag of treasure
near to my heart
"oh yes," said the bookseller
as she opened wide the door to release me
to moonlight in a world now
more hollow than it'd been
a mere day before
and yet as full as my arms
Beth Cato
100% Love, poetry, Issue 25, December 1, 2013
To Walk Upon Clouds, poetry, Issue 28, September 1, 2014
How a Modern Green Man Grows, poetry, Issue 29, December 1, 2014
Leaf Dragon, poetry, Issue 31, June 1, 2015
A Sip of Starlight, poetry, Issue 35, June 1, 2016
Witch and Stick, poetry, Issue 36, September 1, 2016
When Stones Awaken, poetry, Issue 39, June 15, 2017
The Astronaut's Cat, poetry, Issue 40, September 15, 2017
The Bookstore, poetry, Issue 56/57, Fall/Winter 2021
Beth Cato is the author of the Clockwork Dagger series from Harper Voyager, which includes her Nebula-nominated novella Wings of Sorrow and Bone. Her newest novel is Breath of Earth. She’s a Hanford, California native transplanted to the Arizona desert, where she lives with her husband, son, and requisite cat.
Her website is, http://www.bethcato.com
Get to know Beth...
Birthdate?
January 13th.
When did you start writing?
At age four I started making my own books and continued to dream of being a published author through my teenage years, whereupon reality smacked me upside the head and the dream died for a time. It was resurrected about six years ago..
When and what and where did you first get published?
I had a smattering of poetry publications when I was a teenager.
What themes do you like to write about?
Mothers and daughters; grandmothers and granddaughters; the apocalypse; healers; dryads; selkies.
What books and/or stories have most resonated with you as an author? Why?
How do these stories and their characters find expression in your work?
I adore C.E. Murphy's Walker Papers urban fantasy series. I discovered the first books when I was starting to take my writing seriously, and I studied them on a technical level to figure out why and how they worked. It taught me how to write first person and how to create an engaging voice. That made it all the more thrilling when C.E. Murphy loved my novel The Clockwork Dagger and wrote a blurb for it!