I have been there, the palace of dreams

Our local branch library has been closed since we moved here for renovations. I haven't minded. They park a bookmobile out front several times a week and I can browse the minimal selection there or special order from the vast SF network.

One great thing about moving around frequently is experiencing local libraries. Denver had a great one. Colby had several, all of which were cool in their own ways. The backwoods Maine town we lived in for a year had a library out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

And in Canton, MA, they renovated the library while we were there, turning it into something amazing, despite the town's small size.

So I've patiently waited. But yesterday, b/c M-N wanted a book, I went to the main, downtown branch of the SF library. I'm not sure why I didn't go before. I pass by it whether I'm riding or on the train. But now I've been.

It's amazing. It's huge. Best of all, it has the promised stacks for which I've searched high and low: a great poetry collection.

Poetry is made for libraries. Poets are poor. Bookstores only carry titles that sell, Shakespeare, Maya Angelou, Billy Collins. Libraries can house old titles, obscure titles, everything.

But until SF, I've never seen a library with such a vast and diverse collection of poetry books. I didn't want to take the time to search title by title. I wanted to leave something for next time. So I quickly picked three books I've been meaning to read and left, secure in the knowledge that the wonderland of poetry exists.