Today, I bought Isabel Allende's

  "The House of The Spirits"

      at Half Price Books.

   Tomorrow, I'm reading.

Don't call me.

I won't pick up the phone.

Don't stop over.

I won't hear the door bell.

I won't be home.

     I'll be in the book,

"The House of The Spirits."

being a fiery, sublime Chilean woman.

If you walk into my house,

you won't see me!

(Only my children and

my mom will be able to see me

and even they will only see 

a blurred, half-here, half-there me.)

The only thing that might

lift me out, tear me from a story,

a story in a book with brilliant pages,

   is music, acoustic music,

    lilting, acoustic music

     outside my window.

That worked once...

15 years ago.