read in your own language
the thrumming of rain on the rarest roof
the first one
red, purple or green one
you felt you would live beneath forever.
read in your own language that
sliver of moon. remember?
the peach frosted sunrise
soothing your nervousness before
winter’s long school;
or the apple surprise of those pale
flowers on the very same tree turning to rubies
later on
turning to rubies.
no one told you this would happen.
no one said in any language yes but
tears can melt into the quartz of years
so that looking back maybe all you’ll see
is the luminous
mary angela douglas 27 july 2013
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