is where the angels live, we decided (between us)
peering from the top bunk bed by turns
in the sweet screened air.
and over there in the backyard wistfully
shines the pail to catch the meteor dust
our Grandfather collects each overnight,
we know he can! and that the stars will be glad
to have landed there.
they'll pick the cloudberries
out of their fruit cocktail at a
sky blue table...
that was our Saturday fable
speaking of angels, still,
while we ate our trix and drank up
the rainbowed milk...
or wear blue silk with a pale pink sheen.
or float for awhile in your best bubble ever
the one that never popped.
what about Christmas?
then they're everywhere,
not only chiming round the angelabra
till the dog stares getting glassy eyed
they're thick as red and green
you can make them!
On shiny paper
we laughed so merrily then
at nothing- and the word "translucent"-
-or ice cream cclours occured to us…
will they melt, then?
this, she said a little anxiously
the smaller child in pink.
I don't think so said her sister.
God wouldn't let them.
mary angela douglas 23 july 2015 rev. 12 june 2017