The Bookstore  by Nancy Schatz Alton

The sounds of the women talking meet the music. The door creaks as it opens and closes. People arrive and leave. We spill together, sometimes in silence, often in talking. We collide: Mark Nepo and poetry; who cares if a celebrity endorses a book; which meditation guide; how do you get grad school paid for? The customers come and go, adding new notes to my brain. The resulting symphony courses through my veins, making my blood more oxygen-rich. While the women in the salon next door talk and talk. While I bathe in the wave crescendo of their word communion.