Ode to a Public Library - Lisa Owens Viani

[Lawrence Robinson]

Ode to a Public Library

In a dreary Rustbelt city—
bleak with grey streets
and gritty factories—
My mother would deposit me
in an old brick beauty,
a Beaux-Arts refugia.

Being only ten
I didn’t ponder
its greatness then.
Instead I absorbed:
Its entrance an elegant porch,
with Ionic columns for support,

Palladian window above
ringed with garlands of flowers.
A balustrade ensconced
the roof, powerfully
crowning the second floor,
terra cotta lion’s heads aroar.

Pushing open heavy doors,
Then up a few steps
through narrow corridors,
past the imposing desk,
the stern Circulation
librarian.

Paneled in mahogany
the dark walls and marble floors
soothed in the summer heat,
Above us, muraled allegories
drew our sight,
curved around a skylight.

I would climb, fast,
the grand main stairs
to the balcony stacks,
as if dared
opening books
to new worlds—to look
at the Ballet Russes,
the sets of Bakst,
the exotic beauty,
lost in the stacks,
lost in time,
then to wind

Back down
a spiral stairway
to the ground
having spent the day
in another realm
now circling steps of iron
returning to the real world,
yet still aglow, having read
the ballet “The Pearl,”
where under the sea, the King of Corals
and the most precious White Pearl
have been captured by the Genie of the Earth.

	- Lisa Owens Viani