The Charleston Library Society

It was sunset and I had gone back in time.
I had never been in the room before,
but I felt like I had seen it a million times.
The large windows let soft, fading sunlight flood into the room;
the arch above each window almost seemed celestial.
The teal blinds came to a half star shape on the top
and for some reason reminded me of Floridian flamingos.

There seemed to be a window on the ceiling, too.
Light fixtures hung down between each pane,
lighting the room to bring your attention downwards,
yet the windows on the ceiling made me think
that my attention was supposed to somehow go up.

The marble of the original, dated black and white floors
were darker than they probably once were back in the day,
their age becoming more evident on the surface.
Even that carpet under that table there is rather dated.
It has faded into a dark gold-ish brown, the edges fringed.
I wonder how many feet have walked upon these things.

The original structures are still there, too, holding strong.
The old fashioned library system of skinny staircases;
one going down into a mysterious basement below,
the other going up into a strangely giant bookshelf –
or is that simply just a rather small wall?

Portraits hang all around the room, old and dated.
They immortalize the famous strangers that the brush strokes create.
They are posed in a way that tells me nothing of who they
 are,
what success they accomplished, or why it even matters.
There are a lot of busts of these kinds of people, too,
seemingly copper, but I don't know.
Either way, they are black and seem awfully old like this
 setting.

The old desk there sits just like it probably always has.
I feel like there is an absent body in the space behind it.
Some sort of secretary or librarian should be behind its 
greatness.
Maybe with some glasses falling down on her nose,
her hair pulled back loosely in a bun, a few strands around 
her face,
her Mary Jane flats with a black scuff on one side
from where she rushed to save a falling book that afternoon.
Where were the rest of the people that belonged here?

Looking out the door, I saw the distinct view
of a house's sideway porch and a patch of tall sea grass.
But a tourist walked by and made me forget it all.
And then I saw a stain of mildew on the corner of the
 ceiling.
It seems that everything comes to an end.

But I heard a wine bottle open, the cork popping off,
and the smell of alcohol invaded my senses.
Which time was I in again?

Owls

Have you seen the owls –
the wooden blue ones –
that hang up with the branches of the trees,
in the Cistern, hidden away, like real owls?

I think they were hung there
for the people like me
who come to the Cistern looking for something,
and we find it in the serenity of its beauty.

I laid in the bright green grass –
 have you ever looked at Randolf Hall
from the angle of laying down right in front of it?
It makes it look a lot bigger and more historic.

I look at those curving stairways
and I’m taken back to the early 1700’s.
I imagine a sepia image of students climbing
up those stairs to become a lawyer or doctor.
All men.

 I wonder when the owls were hung.
What if they were not hung at all,
and rather, they are real owls that are like me
and they love the Cistern too much to leave?

One day I will walk over
this thing we all call the cistern.
I will receive a big piece of paper telling me
that I am now free to leave and go get a job.

 But maybe I won’t go.
I might climb up those steps,
but not walk over the Cistern at all.
Instead, I will fly up into the trees and perch myself
in the branches, with my family, the owls.

Legends

They don’t make people into legends now.

I don’t know if its because it hasn’t been long enough

for one to develop,

or if people just aren’t as special anymore.

The latter seems rather sad.

What makes a legend a legend?

Did they do something that solved world hunger?

Or did they do something to make their mother smile?

Both would’ve changed the world for someone.

So how do I become a legend?

Do I have to find the cure for cancer?

Or make my father cry in pride?

I want to change the world,

at least for someone.