[to my Grandmother, Lucy]
fairy tale bread was scattered the
birds did not eat;
the knights of the small hills
were locked in battle-
but here the shire's wind sighs
the songs my mother taught me through
an open screen door-
cornbread and strawberries are whipped creamed and
the diamond spindles cut, as in former days,
the naive princess-
in odd etchings,
beautiful,
as still-
whole kingdoms shine entire...
yet all my towers face the other way
on leafmeal, cooler afternoons
when a gaggle of stars
drifts by and the goose girl
(with her jewels sewn into her seams for
safekeeping)
follows after them in tears...
these are the things I tell myself
when God may be listening for
the shimmering years recounted,
in rosepetaled spelling blown
and every wish as sunbright, honeysuckle clear
as bacon and eggs at home, grape
jelly scraped on toast that
later will seem so
high meringued-miraculous indeed
or blue jay sapphire strung
from tree to tree
exquisitely hinged as a raspberry summer could be
suddenly frozen ruby solid
overnight-
oh guard with your eyes the scarlet
poinsettia on the piano from unstoried vandals-
the scarlet music
wrap it in golden foil
like a color you can use again
if you need to.
you will need to
you will need your
dream cottonwool wadded
in a silver keepsake box
in the back of the third
dresser drawer-
the crystal perfume stopper
and the opal-inlaid screen
of your best mind
on the day that touring angels
just drop by
unscrolling the fairy tale screed
you can't ignore.
oh step from the doorstep looking back
at what you cannot find
anymore-
you who knew daily how the best
of stories must begin,
will know it then,
forever
mary angela douglas 17 june 2011;rev. 20 june 2017
fairy tale bread was scattered the
birds did not eat;
the knights of the small hills
were locked in battle-
but here the shire's wind sighs
the songs my mother taught me through
an open screen door-
cornbread and strawberries are whipped creamed and
the diamond spindles cut, as in former days,
the naive princess-
in odd etchings,
beautiful,
as still-
whole kingdoms shine entire...
yet all my towers face the other way
on leafmeal, cooler afternoons
when a gaggle of stars
drifts by and the goose girl
(with her jewels sewn into her seams for
safekeeping)
follows after them in tears...
these are the things I tell myself
when God may be listening for
the shimmering years recounted,
in rosepetaled spelling blown
and every wish as sunbright, honeysuckle clear
as bacon and eggs at home, grape
jelly scraped on toast that
later will seem so
high meringued-miraculous indeed
or blue jay sapphire strung
from tree to tree
exquisitely hinged as a raspberry summer could be
suddenly frozen ruby solid
overnight-
oh guard with your eyes the scarlet
poinsettia on the piano from unstoried vandals-
the scarlet music
wrap it in golden foil
like a color you can use again
if you need to.
you will need to
you will need your
dream cottonwool wadded
in a silver keepsake box
in the back of the third
dresser drawer-
the crystal perfume stopper
and the opal-inlaid screen
of your best mind
on the day that touring angels
just drop by
unscrolling the fairy tale screed
you can't ignore.
oh step from the doorstep looking back
at what you cannot find
anymore-
you who knew daily how the best
of stories must begin,
will know it then,
forever
mary angela douglas 17 june 2011;rev. 20 june 2017
Recorriendo Los Angeles
Recorriendo Los Angeles
el pan de cuento de hadas se dispenso
que los aves no comen
los caballeros de las colinas pequenos
se encuentra atrepado en luchas
pero aqui canta el viento del condado-
las canciones que mi madre me ensena
a traves de una pantalla abierta-
pan de maiz y fresas
con crema batida son...y
cortan los ejes de diamente
como en dias pasados
la princesa ingenua en aguafuertes impares,
hermosa como sigue.
reinos enteros brillan...
pero todos mis torres hacen frente
a la otra manera
en las tardes mas frescas de
"leafmeal"
cuando se aleje un monton de estrellas
cerca de mi
y la dama de ganso (con sus joyas
cosido en ella para mayor seguridad)-
sigue despues de ellos, en lagrimas-
estas son las cosas que me digo a mi mismo-
cuando Dios podria estar escuchando
para los anos reluciantes relatado.
en petalos de rosa otografia saltado
y cada deseo como sol brillante,
madreselva claro
como bacon y huevos en casa-
jalea de uva raspado en pan tostado
que mas tarde le parecera tanto
de hecho milagroso como alta merengue
de verdad-
exquisitamente articulado como
un verano de frambuesa-
repentinamente congelado rubi solido
durante la noche por razon de los angeles
de invierno.
asi es.
o guarde con los ojos el Poinsetta
escarlata en el piano de los
vandoles, sin historias-
la musica escarlata
lo envuelve en papel de oro como
un color que puede utilizar de nuevo
si necesita.
se necesita.
Usted necesitara su algodon
hidofilo sueno
arrugada en una caja de recuerdos
de plata-
en el fondo del cajon tercero del aparador-
el tapon de cristal
de su perfume
y las incrustaciones opalinas
de su mente mayor-
en el dia que recorre los angeles-
acabo de entrar
desenrollados el cuento de hadas
que no puede ignorar...
o pasa Ud. de la puerta-
mirando hacia atras
a lo que usted no puede encontrar-
Ud. que siempre supiste
la mejor de las historias
como deben comenzar
ahora sabrala para siempre-
mary angela douglas 3 august 2011
( Spanish translation of original in English)
