Memento Vivere

[in loving memory to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas (1927-1993) and

to Sara Teasdale (1894-1933), with abiding respect]

pink marigold suns have slipped away

like the cameo cares of Sara Teasdale

but I am here

with the dove-lapsed valentine

folded up I always meant to

send her, across time-

and the air of St. Louis

crumples like rose parchment

kindling lost kingdomes:

are you there?

as I hold out one cream starched

dawn's particular corner

for you to catch- dim orchards washed-

green rains...

forget-me-nots at tea

I'm dreaming a cloud

like an envelope. sepia-dipped

twice over. filled

with your manifold

weeping harps your sunbursts

but it's delayed, misplaced,

and where

will I really be that

ringed with light again

sustaining when I can

the fleeting imprint of so many violet skies...

here at the orphaned window still

I trace your leaves and lilies through the mist

in tinctured starlight

scrapbook cherished

weighing in scales of pearl the clock face moon

but the afternoon grows older, after all

the tide of wishes turns...

above the noise of mere battlefields

every singed and salvaged word

I praise

and look past

the garnet consolations of the epic dead

to see

white wave on wave

of your delight

bright words

never blind, inlaid

like fires in opal

self-contained

the rainbowed startled reveries (of God)

inferred:

and on - at last-

the unclasped fairytale page unwavering

the heart stenciled postscript of the child

who cried for Beauty

and was heard-

mary angela douglas 13-14 march 2011

*"Latin, remember to live"

Sara Teasdale poet of starlight forgotten later in life was born in St. Louis where I also went to school. My mother loved her poetry as well.