Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Fleeting Conversation With The Snow Child

to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas, in memory of...

I am the clock that's made of stars
she faintly smiled but I didn't understand
the cupboard with myriad jams asleep

the sing-song sung, the quiet sweep of hands
round the face of the moon the snows
that go, they will go and you won't 

expect them to.
I wondered.
then it was spring.

mary angela douglas 10 march 2015