Look What the Mailman Brought

The Collected Poems of Wilfred Owen 

good stuff

I love books that plop in the mail basket like 

well-mannered gifts in kraftpaper wrappers 

with gracious hand-written addresses; 

you forgot you ordered them and 

then you open them and 

the smell of a perhaps familiar library bursts forth 

and there are stamps on the inside, and dates from 1964, 

and the paper is exquisite and the 

type has depth (you can feel it 

when you run your hand slowly over it) 

and a homey inkiness. Yep. I love it. 

Thank you, person who sent me Wilfred Owen. I am forever grateful.