Left in the Lurch

I could go on forever
          in this labyrinth of wood pulp,
                    plucking beeswax stalks off sconces,

pulling & prodding at appendages
          of statues that appear to flinch.
                    A rustle of paper 

trailing shadows
           in the corner of my eye.
                    Nerves turn into extinguished wicks

with a fist-full of bronze braid as
          the heavy curtain draws open.
                    Light from the picture window

falls across a section of ancient history.
          Warily through the corridor of light,
                    I pry at a maroon spine 

scrawled in faded gold lettering,
          revealing a false panel
                    in the oak shelves, shifting perspectives. 

                    A spiral staircase plummets.
          I find myself lodged
in a cobwebbed enclave

                    of catacombs lined
          with faded self-portraits,
silver emblems of dead names

                    embroidered on the tip of the tongue.
          The librarian shushes from the other side,
and the hidden door slams behind me.

Jay Butler holds a B.A. in History & English with a concentration in Creative Writing from Appalachian State University. He is a member of the Southern Appalachian Writers’ Cooperative and his work has appeared in Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel.

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