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