Jennifer MacPherson

Imagination

I tore the last page from the book
folded it into tiny squares that just fit my jeans pocket
and sidled out the library door
into a night that was loopy with stars and wind,
brisk leaves skittering ahead of my feet.

That night in bed, by flashlight,
I learned how the story ended, all the sweeter
for my never having begun that book,
its characters a wave of names I could ride like a surfboard
because I didn’t know who they were.
but I recognized the puzzle, fit together at last.