How do you get mad in a new way?
In the wooden room last week, much like any library
I finally felt the weight.
When I go to the Yiddish archive,
I am the only person in line at the metal detector.
no one talks to the Concierge and
two women people greet me at the security desk
take my ID and hand me a name tag with my picture on it
walk me to the next room to check my coat.
I ride to the third floor
the librarian gives me a key for the locker, for my bag.
and I fill out a form with the call numbers
and take it to the other room
and wait an hour and
recieve my book.
For the self protection here, all these texts must be holy- and aren't they?
today, the hebrew orphanages of post-war new york.
last week,The leather tanners association, photos of socialist youth.
what use is echoing that everyone should know these things?
that somehow we should learn to carry history and not just its strange shadows.
the coat rack is almost empty
and the front hallway is empty
and the staircase is empty
and in the library, just a few.
What bias makes me not surprised?
I know these places must be full, sometimes,
and I know the danger is real
but,
I ache, here, in the security cocoon.
This place is the state of the world. I can't blame-
but history and knowledge and holiness
I thought, were to share.
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