My Friend's Book

 I like reading my friend's book.

Not just a book she recommended,

Nor one she gave as a gift -

The same book that she read

Before handing it off to me.

I like reading my friend's book;

I come across places with curved pages,

And imagine her reading with one hand,

Suddenly needing to set it down

But not ready to close it quite yet.

I like reading my friend's book.

I find a crease in the corner -

The dreaded, horrid, dog-eared page -

And I know it is a place where she stopped,

A place where she had to come up for air.

I like reading my friend's book,

For I find places she marked.

A folded page corner that didn't get smoothed

Marks a place she found significant

And left for me to find.

I like reading my friend's book,

But I wonder if reading it

Was as hard for her as it is for me.

I wonder if it happened to her,

Or if she knew it happened to me.

I like reading my friend's book

And knowing we turned the same pages.

I like the wonder that reading it brings;

I like how strongly I know it is hers;

And I like how she knew to give it to me.