The Black Book
By Juliet D
The black book perched on the shelf.
The clear cover with my name
on a tilted piece of paper.
Inside lay pages covered in lead
drawings of animals, horses and wolves.
The book is a museum of old memories.
My hand dashes across the page
splashing lines that grow into a picture
the pages are rough like a cat’s tongue
catching the lead as it falls.
The pages flip over, the sound of
paper flapping in the wind fills the air.
The smell of charcoal and lead drifts,
the drawings dance across the pages.
The book not fazed by age,
the black book perched on the shelf.