Not Reading a Book on a Bench

She sits on the bench and looks at the book.

Her fingers are red with cold

the wind stings her cheeks

and she can't read the words.

It doesn't matter.

Impervious to weather and reading ability,

she's captivated by the world in the pages.

Her imagination is free from the manipulation

of the author's carefully chosen phrases.

This is not his story, it's hers.

Her story, her world, her universe.