Victoriana

is this the map made out of mist

the one the children lost

on their way to the blue mountains?

here is the spot where they ate their

last peppermints, butterscotch, lemon drop

and the bright foil wrappers glinting in the sun

an SOS

to someone small

to anyone at all

there's the place they found fresh water

and washed their faces in dim

starlight hardly lighting the path

to the Other side

and here's the arbor where

they told each other stories

waiting for help to come-

there, the shadow of famine, war

of small things left undone

of the illumination of sudden fevers

of ribbons untied on presents

imagined by their mothers

silver wishes foundered golden ones

spiced gumdrops

here's the cache of rubies they left behind

and in the phantom snow, bird tracks of

sparrows bringing them bright berries bright berries

in their beaks and songs

and here the trail disappears

where the guardian angels loom with peach bright wings

tinged with violet leaning over the children

in the rickety  rowboat...

the still waters

where the angels bore them away

as in fine prints that hung on

the rose paper walls papered over with sighs

of the Great Houses

long, o long ago

mary angela douglas 24 January 2014