Thursday, November 21, 2013

What If She Wept Pearls

to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas

what if she wept pearls

to no echoing air was said
for a princess in disguise
and losing light and language daily.

then latecomers could -

could understand
(and here a small grief stammered)
how once God placed an

opal in the sand

till wars and shifting winds
obscured the sight
and all the armies of the night
bereaved, returned:
not knowing where to
lay their flowers down.

it's not that the angel in

charge of the ledger
forgot to account for the

unaccountable.

there's a balance in more
than nature always reckoned

in legendary legends-

write this down:
that once the daughter of a King

was found

stargazing on her own
and weeping with no soul around

for the moon 
behind the clouds.
for home.

mary angela douglas 21 november 2013


Note on the Poem: The Princess Who Cried Pearls - that fairytale- has one of the most beautiful titles for a story I've ever heard.  That image is so arresting to me that I often forget how the actual story itself goes.  So here I have made up a version of my own.


And maybe it is a song exile and maybe, it is not.