[on a recording of Vladimir Feltsman playing Messiaen-]
for Rodney
for Rodney
like leaving the piano pedal down
when you play Messiaen, all the
stained glass bells jangling at the same
time-
let sound be prolonged
and angels not submerged
inside the pearl of music
where the refugees take refuge.
and the haloes of the little clouds
be not obscured on one rosy day
in the Life of the Virgin
before the meadows dried on fresco walls;
and I prayed with my sister silently
that flowers would never fall from the trees.
and for a cathedral in every shade of Rouault
in my half-dream.
and for singing at breakfast.
and the honey crystallized
in the morning room
the finger paints swirled in the
backyard streams.
and hearing began so far away
when we from the very first were
dressed in conch shell pink by our mother
were just being ourselves, my sister and I
the very sound of waves;
being ourselves, the sound of distant waves
mary angela douglas 14 june 2014
Note on the poem: Rodney was a kid in my elementary school who loved sea shells. He couldn't speak very well but when he spoke it was with such sincerity.
One day I was sick a little and was allowed to stay inside the classroom during recess. Rodney was also inside that day working on something. He showed me his beautiful conch shell with the vari-colored pink pearly interior and said, as many children do: hold it up to your ear, you can hear the sea.
But he really believed it; and then, so did I.
