Yellow Cake Island

living on yellow cake island with the throw away babies
I thought about many things. speeches in childhood.
home made kites.

the beautiful illusion of friends.
how the roses open
no matter what closes in the world.

on yellow cake island
we couldn't afford the frosting
in our latter years

so we are here where we made do
with elevator remarks at Christmas.
with sorrowful inspections.

all this is done for your welfare
they insist.
but I desist.

I desist on behalf of the throw away babies
on the edge of the ledge of the candy box city
downtown, the trendy; with its outbreaks of

little gallerias, boutiques, chameleon
coffee shops...
how will we cross the pastel canals

to get from here to the boat of

Heaven when it comes?
I asked on the elevator, everyone,
when it stopped shaking.

everyone cried,

I said to the Deep.
but only in their sleep.

mary angela douglas 12 april 2015