Thursday, October 19, 2017

My Ghost, In Cherry Velvet

she will have a rose coverlid my ghost
so that God will know her 
when she appears in The Garden

so that the small birds with flutelike fluttering
will decorate her transparent hand
as if we were in Disneyland

well isn't that Heaven
asked a child in cherry velvet.
It could be I said

and we'll wear dresses the froth
of strawberry ice cream,
wait, I see.

my ghost will have a gem bright
time of it
haunting the people who were a little

diffident in life
polishing their halos
and standing in the light in such a way

that may display
she has come to steal a few scenes back
on the long and the weary track

now turned to pearl...

mary angela douglas 19 october 2017

Prescience

in a dream I seemed a bird flinging myself at a cage
the cage was nothing special
then I found staircases 

only partially finished.
it was a long way down to the ground

where there were small holes in the earth
and rain filled them up.
then the ocean came through

I could see it before it happened

and said to each one in the dream
there will be a flood and,
Flee

but no one heard me
no one believed me
so I left on my own.

mary angela douglas 19 october 2017

WHERE IS MY SISTER

God help the children in their kaleidoscope turning
i said to my sister but she couldn't hear me
did the fleece of snow cover her ears

did the bridge of light melt with her fears and she
in her tiny satin her beribboned slippers
why did I let go of her hand

near the blackboard with the light years figured out
in coloured chalk

and near the persimmon tree where she played.
let the iced tea chime in the glass
of one normal day

at least in memory.
I can't hear music anymore

there, where she was.
I thought she would always be.
one minute I turned the key

into the gingerbread lock

but she was elsewhere
there where people take stock
only of what they will have for lunch.

let the angels come with new crayons
and redraw her
let the lawyers speak above whispers

so that truth will come down
in the form of an angel a valentine carefully constructed
and beyond reproach

let the judge harken, harken to this
where is my sister

so that no false word may enter the record
and let me say to the court
oh she is not your ragdoll.

she was my sister.
oh God I have one token left.
please let me through.

mary angela douglas 18 october 2017

Golden

I wish I had a golden boat
and I would float within
the moat and on the heavily

embroidered waters
and I would sing too
the old embellished songs

the music that makes up for wrongs.

I wish I had a golden song
and I would mend it when it tore
on brambles that you can't ignore

when you go picking blossoms, berries,
the kingdoms of the sun.
I wish I had a golden dawn

to start a new life, once upon

knowing what I didn't know when
all thoughts were golden
in the let's pretend.

mary angela douglas 19 october 2017

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

You Risk Everything

I dreamed I sent
a telegram to the past
look out the slippery hills

are glass
enameled rings from gum machines
may turn green

and when they call you things obscne
don't say a word
just leave.

just leave and let them ridicule
the space you vacated
and wish yourself into a brighter

place
than this one where the human race
is so unpredictable

you risk everything
even just standing still.

mary angela douglas 18 october 2017

That Slays The Heart

bring me word I said to the deaf
or I said to the winds that didn't come back
what now

I asked in the worst part of the fairy tale
when things are not to scale
bring me a feather from the golden bird

for I am bereft
with no wings left
let me build them feather by feather this time


and in the worst weather

however long the task
in an inhospitable clime
so that I myself may ask in person

what no living soul will tell me from afar

and break the spell
and break the spell
of the radio silence

I know so well
shattered from relay to relay;
that slays the heart

mary angela douglas 18 october 2017

and the show and tell.

mary angela douglas 18 october 2017

Depositions

words fall on old pavements
and they break like bottle glass
this I imagine is the fate of words

the fate of words
never heard
never listened to

and do they bleed, the words,
the words never heard
and do they flow out into

a universe of sighs
where angels pick them up
and begin their patchwork.

how do I know
who repeat the same questions
over and over and then

phrased differently
as if a slight change in nuance
could unlock

a slammed door.

mary angela douglas 18 october 2017