Wednesday, October 02, 2013

Still Life With Finger Bowl And Flowers

paper flowers on a saucered sea
so sacrosanct to me-
I watch you furling your small sails

it's hard for you, being paper
to bloom there in my grandmother's
crystal finger bowl.

a little daring, even, impossible, but anyway,
you do, corollas of the party favors,
leftovers from the festivities.
I am paper too.

I know
having lived in this somehow
for so long or in cardboard imaginary play houses

painted with tempara shutters, doors
opening onto the storybooked
I have become paper thoroughly

I understand
this paradox paradisical
of floating as if somehow real

budding miraculously
precariously on the surface of what
too easily

could dissolve us


mary angela douglas 2 october 2013;25 november 2014;
rev. 21 february 2015