Tuesday, November 05, 2013

Voice Prints Of The Angels On The Crystal Air

[to my grandmother at Christmas, always]

voice prints of the angels on the crystal air 

remind me of your
rose-taffeta, Christmas smile- 
the midnight clear you taught me to sing

the three pronged golden tuning fork of

Modern Library's Giant Walter Scott
under the Christmas Tree

delicate painted rosebud china perfect

for the dolls and packed in straw.
voice prints of the angels, all the snow

expectancies I had guarded in my heart's

white candle-flame
flares into Christmas, waxing  now, in

my small apartment

and there you are again
not a bit ghostly, glad and
making ornaments from styrofoam

balls and sequins, glitter in every color

of the spectrum (just fill one Swanson chicken pie
pan with glue and dip, the other pan filled with spangles..., swirl)
and I am richer than diamonds, emeralds

pearls, rubies or the sudden topaz of

the Star
that we believed in- I believe in still,

oh Grandmother in rose taffeta,

made of music and tears

mary angela douglas  5 november 2013