canary diamonds from the Antiques Roadshow.
I think I may have one of those mused someone's grandmother in her fuzzy bathrobe,
matching bunny slippers.
peacock feathers from the quills of Rilke?
a cherry silk barouche
(and matching horses)
in the attic? under the hatboxes?
the candy coloured palette of Chagall.
under the sink?
in your Grandfather's tool shed with the lawnmower.
they must be somewhere somewhere somewhere
the mariners maps behind the paintings bought from a 5 and
10 store way back when in the aisle near the Tangee lipsticks
or the ruled tablets, the zinnia Burpee seeds.
pink china from Marie Antoinette,
handpainted by herself.
a basque shawl, red rose poetry aflame.
and glittering, still,
the stars above Van Gogh's cafe,
the originals, crowed the apprasiers.
we've looked everywhere.
the names of famous ancestors unearthed
and all their diaries glow in faded handwriting
in the tv aftermath, switched off.
we didn't find a thing. it's not so bad.
it's fun to dream of things we almost had.
mary angela douglas 26 july 2014
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