Lost and Found

Finding Poetry

It's now Tuesday morning, near the end of my lecture when I remember that I haven't gone back to the book shop to check it out. I don't have any plans that afternoon, so I decide I'll head to town and have a look. Under the desk I write a quick text to Asher,

'Going into town later. Wanna join me?'

I press send and a few minutes later get a reply,

'Sorry, would love to, but I have volleyball practice :( another day?'

I send a quick thumbs up emoji and turn my attention back to the lecture. I know Saffi has work to catch up on, so it looks like I'll be going on my own.

Once three o'clock comes around, I change into my jeans which I tuck my tan jumper into, put on my matching tan trench coat, pop my hair into a claw clip and get my tote bag ready to go.

The walk to town is always beautiful. Past the forest surrounding the school, I've seen that it opens up into a variety of different fields, some grass, some wheat, and they look so full and colourful in the autumn. I can't wait until spring to be able to do this walk when the fields will be full of flowers. In fact, I'll have to walk it every season to decide which will be the best.

Thankfully the bookshop is open today, so I walk through the narrow door, and instantly the most wonderful and intense smell hits my nose. It's woody, almost smoky and precisely what I hoped it would smell like. The lights are dim, creating an antique atmosphere, making everything seem more mysterious and even a little eerie. It isn't just the smell and lighting that enthral me though, it's so quiet and peaceful in here, like entering into a new world. I can't help but smile and touch the first book I see. The cover over the spine is worn away as if someone had loved it so much and read it repeatedly until it was memorised and passed on for someone else to enjoy. Or maybe it had gone from house to house, friends recommending it to friends, reading it in the garden, in bed, or even on a window bench.

Usually, I would head straight to the crime or romance section of a bookstore, but today something pulls me into the poetry section. My eyes scan over the books until I pull out the one that looks the most worn away and faded.

'Selected poems of Ben Jonson', the front title reads. I wonder why I have never heard of this before, it's obviously loved due to its state. I open the book and start to read the first poem I see,

'Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.'
"The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine...'"

"But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine." Comes a voice to my right. I look up and see the kind face of a boy with curly sandy-coloured hair and the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen. "Did you realise you'd started reading it out loud?" I stare at him and feel my cheeks start to burn red in embarrassment.

"Oh no... sorry. I guess I just got sucked in for a moment there," I hastily close the book and slot it back into the space on the shelf.
"You know, the first time I ever came into this shop, that was also the first book I picked up."

I can't tell if he was being serious or just trying to start a conversation, but how else would he know the poem?

"So you come here often?" I ask,

"You could say that," he leans against one of the bookshelves, "but I know I've never seen you in here before."

"Oh. Yeah. It's my first year at Spring Hill," I motion my hand behind me as if standing right in front of the building, "are you in university?"

"No, I'm taking my gap year" he takes a book from one shelf and puts it onto another, "can't face another three or four years cooped up in a school straight away."