At the Inauguration Of Snow

at the inauguration of snow

we turned away

dabbing our eyes on the

sleeve of the wind:                             

half-sleeve;

half-dream.

why can’t we live in the

clouds, a cloud-child

asked me-

I couldn’t say why not.

let the snow answer

as it sifts into the hollow

where the heart was

Once.

-when? said the child

-it’s too far back to tell;

keep dreaming…

here’s your embroidered sash…

in Old fairytales, close to the hearth-

don’t card their wool.

I turned away

not understanding anything at all

my arms so full of books

as if they were flowers

in the hollow where I

hid my heart

from the Inspectors.

-Why? said the child

-don’t ask me more;

I only know

how blank the sky becomes

the day after graduation-

even in the same cutwork dress

the one interwoven with seed pearls-

that snow crushes the last of June clover

and the door- sill of moonlight

and the antique piano we covered with lilies

is carted away

and the grown children

are carted away in plain sight.

Snegourka.  Snow child.

Once you dressed in the Northern Lights.

now you look like anyone else

in the crowd applauding

the coronation of snow-

your eyes don’t hold the light,

and I can’t find you…

mary angela douglas 7 may 2012