The Blue Booth by the Library

The library among the city's ghosts--
the roaming homeless--stands as Minerva,
with open arms whispers:
come in, seek, find.

and yes, the ghosts go inside, not to read but
to do something else and leave. today, I see a woman

in the small, blue booth at the end of a walk way;
slump down on the wooden bench, her head hung;
the dark waves rise high and fall; and repeats;
her gaunt body shudders, like a little leaf in the 
cold rain. she remains there a long while;
and brusquely walk away;
where? just like the others before her?
one only wishes them the best;
yet knowing whish alone would be vain; still wish
they would grasp the love the mother giving birth;
open the eyes wide and go, and go well. 

©Byung A. Fallgren