the ice cubes clink in the apricot juice
like gilded bells and the froth of sunset
in small iridescent beads
washes over us; after all
you meant to say
like Alice on her summer day
then let it be the tart lemon mixed with
the cherry pie sweetness
toffee laden
you were born for! or else it's
pomegranate, the ruby starriness
transposed to our local setting.
may it be made of jade.
the young leaves shade.
the life-span of gold.
may its ears be stuffed with amethyst snows:
your fairy tale instant! lidded with stars
in the hard winter
with not a scrap of bad news
at the indoors tea parties.
mary angela douglas 4 may 2014;rev. 17 november 2014
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