[to Milton B. Young, my grandfather]
always he untied the knots in necklaces
in an old jewel box until
it all shone mother of pearl
on an ebony lid
or he untangled Christmas lights
bright lotuses of red and green
orange, blue and lemon shining through
his patience brought from a creaky attic
downstairs to our living room
like Heaven to earth for our Christmas tree
and meteor ridden, stardust in a bucket
he collected overnight all summer.
how I miss his constancy
I thought he could solve any equation
I knew he would always try.
bitter the lemon in the tea without him
missing the mint he gathered then
from his small garden flecked with marigold, old fashioned roses-
Saturday afternoons.
mary angela douglas 29 september 2013
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