I read that once in a while one must look
up into the tree branches & glimpse the stars
scrawled on the leaves’ pale underbellies.

The book says the ocean eats itself everyday,
coral & nematodes clinging to each other
against the scraping teeth of wave on wave.

I must live the life of the aesthetic
fortune reader, tea leaves for breakfast,
clamshells before bedtime, a silken shawl

on my shoulders to draw to myself
when the ghost in the fireplace howls.
The book taught me love must grow

in the damp places of the earth, mold
& mushrooms spreading out in rings,
spirals of moist heat, bugs crawling

upwards to find the sun, a million writhing
things pushing up through the loam & rot,
with nutrients in their mouths

& love escaping from their breath.

– Michael Pittard

Author’s Note: The title was taken from the Encyclopedia Britannica “Book of the Year” series. While I have leafed through a few of those books before, I wondered more generally about what purpose these and other “books of years” are supposed to serve, what information they’re supposed to provide, and what help they actually give their readers.