Sunday, November 09, 2014

Storybook Of The Day Before

you'll open the cherried lid of the book-
you, with your candy jar feelings, still, and immediately
intricate snows sweep through in fine netted veils

like the bride doll's in your cherished keeping;
or in satin folds, past the sleeping windows
of the picture town, crowning the slope bright steeple, the panes of

viridian green, of acquamarine, of  a curious rose and you know
(you know)- without being told- all this is more
acute than anything else outside

your window
and worth paying attention to: like the colours,
winter dawning of the tiny paper flowers

in the doll bouquet..with an inner measured tread-
to the tune of silvered thread through the snow bobbins:  
she- carried- Forever up your summer's sidewalk

processional.

o turn the page.
glass green the waves churn up, they overflow;
you know she must be cold beyond

Cold itself: the Mermaid holding him aloft
from certain death he will forget-
and there's another coldness where the Snow Queen

glows and ice floes catch the pale  deep glitter of her
eyes and you're cold, too, under the baby quilts a little
too small for you now. who cares.

let the sleet beat on the lavender lunar roofs of
somewhere else, for this is Home:
deep set in peppermint dreams, the ancient flourish

of the Orange topped Stockings, foil wrapped
chocolate bars on Christmas Eve.

mary angela douglas 9 november 2014