To the Russian poets and all poets;the shimmering, undefeated "cloud of witnesses" who conveyed at great cost in their own way: the connecting idea between Heaven and earth. And most of all, to the poet from the former Soviet Union who, dying, in prison, wrote his final poem in his own blood on the wall: the single word, "Hope". Whole-hearted To the Triune God in memory of Mary Adalyn Douglas.
Copyright 2006-2016, U.S. and International Copyright all rights reserved by Mary Angela Douglas
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
At the Academy of Golden Birds Or When You're Older You'll Learn The Alphabet
at first I heard them singing
in my dreams: the golden birds.
when you’re older Grandmother said
you'll know what it means;
you’ll go to school
to learn about the golden birds.
with my plaid satchel.
the walls were bare.
chalk letters over and over
on the black board almost fluttered
but the stories were always about
day after day I waited sorting apples from oranges cuttng out paper leavestill waiting wasn’t a thing I could do
not even with waxed paper,
pressing the flowers.
when will we learn about the golden birds I asked? coming in one day from recess
from dust-clouded running like the
gold horse of the plains I reigned so slightly in.
the teacher grew red faced though she hadn’t been running.
not explaining anything
that’s what we’re doing.
sit – down.
I never saw them there, my golden birds
not even kept in cages by the pencil sharpener
or beside the aqua water fountains
where I would have gone to feed them gladly, pineapple cake.
upside-down at least on Wednesdays.
oh they should have arisen like their four and twenty brethren from the King’s own pie…