some book-shelf inspiration

A few months ago, I started writing a teeny tiny collection of poems, all loosely based around a specific shelf of Icelandic children stories that I found in Alderman stacks. I like book shelves. I like the thought of a lot of different stories and ideas being forced into the same neighborhood. I like the way books must be physically supported, held.

Whenever I go to Alderman, I always end up studying in the stacks by these Icelandic stories. They intrigue me. They have these fun, colorful covers and interesting titles. The subject matter (of the ones I can skim through in English) is whimsical and typically about fish or witches or cats or princesses.

So one day I just wrote a poem about the shelf. And then a few days later, I wrote another one about one of the book covers. And then I thought "let's make this a project". And so I did, but then kind of forgot about it after writing a few more. Today I got a random burst of excitement to dig back into it again. I wrote the following. And p.s. This was also inspired by some pictures my friend took of street art she saw when she visited Iceland, and by this flickr page I browsed and LOVE.
Happy gorgeous saturday :)
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Street-art graffiti in Reykjavík at 5 p.m.
where I am holding your hand.
A tall green man is standing on the flaking side of a furniture shop.
His painted shadow reaches around the corner, back
into the alley by the trash
where it fades, tumultuous blues, and stops in sleep.
I wonder what he’s dreaming.
Your thumb feels nice on my skin.

Over our heads, a fish is flying
with his fish friends on a day-trip from the sea.
You pull out your camera and his scales
leave flashes of light like sunspots on the photos.

You try to take a picture of me, and I say
No, don’t. I am a flying fish.
(Fullness in me when I watch you laugh)

I say, What color are my scales?
You say, purple and that color of the peach you ate yesterday.
I say, Will you count them up?
You say, I will touch each of them with my thumb.
I say, Are you a flying fish?
(Fullness in me when I watch you smile)

Above us is a family of them now,
swooning together in the liquid sunlight.
We watch them leap over a line where
bicycles are hanging from their wheel axles.
They are melting their glittering colors into the day.

I think of how we could talk forever
about fish scales and art
and I’d never want sleep again.

I think of the dimples
on the left side of your face
where I could take a swim.