Confetti Islands Dot The Map

[to Robert Louis Stevenson]

confetti islands dot the map...

I must have left it somewhere

mulled the pirate

sipping his eggnog thiner than the

clouds above red morning's warning sun.

ah, here's the one, in piratese he murmured

to no one:

green was the parrot sun when we sailed out;

flamingo bright our hopes to be mired in diamonds

by month's end big as peacock's eggs

but then, mired we were, though not in mermaids,

coffers of the queens;

floating near the ghastly shoals

when the scavengers came out

pretending to rescue us.

too late cried the ghosts and drifted on.

one spyglass floating on the soured, spilled jewels remained

for the one child scavenging for stars, not braided bread nor meats, wild cherry brandy...

he plucked it from my hands and learned to see

mary angela douglas 19 august 2014