Blue-Quiet On The Tear Streaked Waters, Shipshod Sun

blue-quiet on the tear streaked waters, shipshod sun!

I cried to the nursery paintings one by one

and weaver's weave invisibly the empty embroidery looms

of those who swore to us they loved poetry more or music
than we could

and still there's no silver moon threading
fresh clouds for you,

no amethyst place to play.

and the peridots weep openly in the jewelry case unlocked
remembering our playlike jewelry days all summers.

dancing in golden slippers she slipped away
and spoiled the view

and it's too late to tell you but it's true you left

the paraffin off the red raspberry jam
and the field mice stole the winter tallow.

the rag doll wags her head and is wise still

but it's someone else's attic now oh but not
oh purely not the rose punch red, faint pink,
and showy ivory towers of the azalea flowers

that bloomed small when we were small, too,
in the corner side-yard:
bridesmaids, sisters-

they have outcropped the stars...

mary angela douglas 7 april 2015