[to the myth of Diana Vreeland and other quandries]
why don't you...
make a gown out of fresh rose petals?
scatter the leaves of old letters
as if you were the wind why don't you
run on the playground anymore
or eat the icing out of the bowl
and just serve plain cake afterwards, mysteriously,
with no explanations.
deck yourself out like a Christmas tree
complete with a little creche and the one overwhelming Star
and THEN go to all the winter solstice parties!
why don't you read only childhood picture books for a year:
maybe you'll remember how to disappear
just wearing lavender at sunset.
maybe then the great poets will come to mind
and you'll be happy without knowing why.
even without your iridescent earrings...
your mother's peony fan.
maybe the Ballet Russe will come to visit you on tour.
you. while you're standing en pointe.
while you're veiled in pearl.
between the galaxies.
mary angela douglas 21 december 2014
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