The previous post about reading a good book reminded me of a poem I wrote back in 2003.
The Reader
It’s so easy for me
to be lost in a book,
to pull on a novel character
like a change of clothes,
new and refreshing;
No matter how sad
their life may be,
I’m not me.
When I close
the book
I’m an awakened
sleepwalker:
I am placed
in my life
like a colorform
or a paperdoll;
as if I am teetering
on the edge of a cliff
and dare not move
until I touch
the harsh reality
of the world around me
and feel sure it can hold
the uncertainty of myself—
Lock me once again
into my own life.
Last Train to QVille 
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