Song for Future Books

The book is made of glass and I look 
through it and see more books. 

Many glass books.

Is someone speaking?

     A muffled voice is telling me 
to make soup which I think 
means I am loved. 

What other kind of cup 
fills itself? 

Can there be a cup of cup?

A cup of itself?

Outside a black squirrel has wiggled 
to the end 
of a very skinny branch. 

When the squirrel breathes
the whole tree shakes,

as if the squirrel were the soul
of the tree.

Have you ever felt like 
such a tree?

Not sayin’ 
I have.

Copyright © 2014 by Joanna Fuhrman. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on February 21, 2014. Browse the Poem-a-Day archive.

About this Poem

"In the spring and summer of 2013, I was trying to write a series of short lyrics that merged observation and dreams. Each little poem would be dated and titled with a headline from the day's news. As often happens with poetry, my concept was hurting the integrity of the poems, so I needed to go back and change the titles of the poems—this one was originally called 'Fashion Spread with Women Dressed as Suicidal Women Writers Draws Ire.'"