[to Eugene Field for his lovely, long-ago poem "The Sugar Plum Tree" and a world-wide plea for a return to former inclusiveness (where the culture of mankind is concerned)]
when you are finished with the colouring books
it will be time to inherit everything of beauty,
worth. even calico hand-me-downs
and every nightingale perched in the
pale green anthology in my Grandmother's
living room bookcase in pale gilt letters
spelled out on the spine: "World Poetry" I never
learned to keep it separate all those colours
bleeding into each other in the margins of
my mind sitting in my Grandfather's chair
turning the myriad pages of what was called
in school, then, the universal canon of
mankind
why are we going backwards colouring in
the lines of our designated tribes alone-
even if, in bright colours and
with the thickest crayons...
when will you find again in quietness
tracing the rainbow's declensions: all jeweled
iterance tolls for thee for thee
and crystal clear.
in every epoch peach bright speech streams a
destined loveliness my friends in the mystical orchard
and more besides, look up and see
beyond the dusted off refurbished opalescence strung
in your particular evening sky and neighborhood
the candied stripings of infinitude rustle in leaves in
your own mind these
letters from the long ago in diamond spidery handwriting
laden and windfall falling from the sugarplum trees
for thee, for thee and thine;
you live in that realm
if you want to...
mary angela douglas 26 January 2014
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