Who Will Take The Song And Lead It Home

[in memory of my grandfather, Milton B. Young]

who will take the song

and lead it home

like a lost child

on paths overgrown too long

to trace

or will this music fade

with no one left

who remembers

we were sitting on

a summer's curb

and the ice cream truck

went the other way

the balloon man went

north as many poets have explained before me:

the snow cones

melted after a death

in the family the storybooks

in the attic were

no longer stored

who will take the child

and lead her home

like a lost song

past a screen door slammed

past fireflies scattered

in the dark:

holding hands as we cross

a street far wider than

before

we were orphans

on the curb of the universe

incapable of choosing

left or right

hoping to be found by nightfall

by angels or by someone else

hearing the dogs bark into their

bluest twilight

the children at ghostly games;

sensing the chicken pie for

dinner, the frosted cakes

the important birthdays

and the pink-bowed presents;

the Easter eggs forgotten in the grass

where dew fell last

waiting, again-

just to be called inside

mary angela douglas 24 february 2009