Earliest Christmases And, Then Not

first there is the flutter of wings or is it snow
in the tinseled forest of memory the evergreen
of let there be lights in every colour outlining

the rooftops and glimpses of trees decked out fantastically
through each window and let the holly bush sideyard clang
shrub bells ice coated and the songs about the cockle shells

and rings of roses as well see their share of the reds
and greens, crepe paper flung, everywhere streamers at
the children's party, the rosy punch in paper cups

gulped down,oh I want to be the smallest one
in the picture book with the gift of robin blue eggs
for the baby Jesus, the wild bird feather.

milky quartz; the gold crushed powder of the wounded
butterflies I will bring to Him that they may fly
through all this starry tissue, snow drop flecked

as my heart is universe
over the crayola landscape and I weep
for what can't come back no matter

this season's heady pines
or the present wrapped in extravagant wrapping now

my Christmas ghosts are tapping, sweet Jesu I adored
and then they fled like moonlight
banished at dawn

from the nursery floor...

mary angela douglas 10 july 2015 rev. 20 june 2017