Member Poem

Here he is again --
the little chap with furry feet,
the fellow I named my cat after
when I was seven.

He lived in a hole in a hill,
a comfortable hole,
and I lived half-underground
in a London basement.

I can't reach back
to see who braided my hair,
which dress I liked best,
whether I could spell.

But the books are in me still
with their wolves, witches, wizards,
dwarves, dragons, demons,
and a furry-footed hobbit.

Hundreds of adventures,
but not this one,
not this wriggly person
that I'm reading to.

Shyly, I introduce my child
to Mr. Baggins, and the three of us
head into the Misty Mountains
as if for the first time.

(First published in Star*Line)