I love books—the ones I can hold in my hands.
The tactile feel matters as much as the smell.
The scent of new and old pages delights me,
and I scribble short notes in the margins.
I prefer hardbound volumes to paperbacks,
yet my library is overflowing—
forty years of collecting stacked on shelves.
I built more in my bedroom,
but they too are crowded with books.
I gave the children’s stories
to my nephew and niece,
gained a little space,
but it quickly vanished.
Now my brother warns
there is no room for more.
My sister-in-law frowns
when packages arrive from Amazon.
I was given an ultimatum:
no more books.
So I bought a Kindle Paperwhite,
installed the app on my computer.
Now I buy e-books
and read them on Kindle.
But when a title has no digital edition,
I plead my case to my brother
and sister-in-law,
the keepers of our shelves.
And slowly, I begin to accept Kindle—
my reluctant savior.
