In those childhood summers,
when September school days loomed
on a blazing horizon, my excuse
for staying indoors bore greater weight
as I strove to beat my own record,
filling my library form in every margin,
titles finally spilling onto another stapled page.
In college, I’d take French novels*
smelling of paper and sunblock
to the beach or the rooftop tanning spot,
racing August to its inevitable end,
eager for September and fresh classrooms
when I’d be given a reading list again.
Reminiscences Inspired by #dVerse. The reading list is from 1965, when I was 10.
*I read from the French Master’s Degree reading list the summer of my junior year, but never pursued the degree.