The Search for Harry Potter: An Adventure in Waterstone's

(This is a poem I wrote while in London about my encounter with Waterstone's Bookstore. After a day of rain, I find myself longing to return to the beauty of the ancient city.)

The Search for Harry Potter

I navigate our little group from one side of the city to another.

Transfer from one tube line, exit at Piccadilly, surface.

And as we make our way through crowded sidewalks and buzzing streets,

with confidence we push forward.

I move my way through laughing children,

parents walking close behind,

and past old buildings filled with new businesses.

Down a few blocks,

I shut my eyes to consult my guide,

a photographic memory.

I see the store forward on my left,

open my eyes and trudge on,

as fat raindrops start to trickle down.

We’re close now, I can feel it.

We pass the hotel from Notting Hill,

expensive and extensive,

where Julia Roberts fabricated

a life as a movie star.

And there it is.

A smile creeps across my face,

“I told you we’d make it.”

“I never doubted.”

“It’s bigger than I remember.”

Upon entering I’m overwhelmed,

five stories to get lost in.

The mammoth store glares at us,

three girls standing weakly in the entrance.

It’s trying to intimidate our Barnes & Noble mindset.

Then it opens its arms and welcomes us,

the warmth of literacy blinds us.

And I comb the shelves for one particular story,

while revelling in the beauty of looming stacks;

best sellers crowd the floor,

titles I’ve never heard before distract me from my journey,

as I set out to find my favorite wizard.

And I find the ‘R’s’ and navigate through,

until I find the ‘Ro’s.’

And I flick past books one, two, three, four and five;

each beautiful in their own nature,

until I find the gold I’d been searching for.

And suddenly, it’s over.

The journey complete,

as I walk away from the cash register,

find my friends

and head for the street.