Thursday, January 02, 2014
Dorothy Slept In The Emerald Eye Of Cyclones
Dorothy slept in the emerald eye of cyclones
hearing the sound of running water, running footsteps;
away from these gold fields, she cried!
to her surprise already
missing home, and that amazed by trees
shedding emerald leaves
along the boulevards of dreams and
feeling a little small among the figurines,
the lemon drop candy dished breakables.
Dorothy, at once! in a green dress, once ice blue-
remained herself, predictable as storms
finding the irregular beautiful; on the doorstep of
many houses peering in
to admire so rainbow-boxed!
the blooms of near neighbors
next door to a dream and
violet, swirled as carnival glass, country, contrary-wise.
deep in His iridescence, not to be swept away.
I haven't come to stay she said firmly.
waking up in the afternoon
to ham biscuits, farmhouse coffee
to her own room
with the bluebird wallpaper.
mary angela douglas 2 january 2014;rev. august 20, 2014