The Babies Are Read To From The Encyclopedia Of Orange

it's the orange crayon sun peeling off of the window

sills of your first summer, lollipop gazing in-

translucent, the country of tangerine

you can't yet hold in your hands.

the dress your mother wears

when she is happy (the flounced peach crepe)-

the dog in autumnal rays

only a little mystical

with fluffed out ears.

it's the amber held in your account

of days and days and days

and years and years of it

so honey flooded oh

how could you believe our crooning?

it's the candied flowers on the cake

sticky, all over your face. nasturtium!

only one glory of the Lord

but shining and shining;

the cream between the layers

apricot, wondered at-

even without the words

mary angela douglas 8 may 2014