by Cecil Morris
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The Bible is among dozens of books [including the graphic novel adaptation of Anne Frank's diary and numerous books with LGBTQ+ themes or characters] removed from this Texas school district. —NPR, August 18, 2022
I like our high school library now—the high ceiling,
the tall windows inviting light, the shelves throwing
their long shadows onto each other, their blond wood,
so easy to dust and polish now. Something stately,
a little grand, a little minimalist—a kind
of puritan austerity, I think you could say,
now that all the books have been withdrawn, all the ideas
removed from circulation, stored now off site and out
of sight. No more books to face or edge or try to dust,
those uneven tops. No more rows of books to cull
for the out of date, the never read—or checked out,
at least—the ones defaced by flip-page cartoons, or drawn-
in dicks, or very personal slurs that should be kept
to lavatory stalls. No more issuing fines
for books late or lost. I know, as librarian,
I should miss the books, both learned tomes and flights
of fantasy, but this vacuous cleanliness
appeals to my love of order and simplicity,
and the kids—the students—still come in with their phones
where they can find the whole world in bite-size chunks,
where they can Google, scroll, and cite Wikipedia.
And I do not have to check anything out or in
or shush any heads bent over the little lights.
I guess this is what the school board and parents want.
Cecil Morris, a retired high school English teacher, divides his time between Oregon and California. He has poems in or forthcoming from 3Elements, Ekphrastic Review, English Journal, Evening Street Review, Hiram Review, Hole in the Head Review, The New Verse News, Scapegoat, Talking River Review, and other literary magazines.
