The Reason

it's washing out my water coloured sky
she turned aside to cry when the rains occurred
and the dolls seemed sympathetic to her words.

another rainy day
the scrap of blue taffeta already sewn
for the smallest doll

the tea trays put away,;the little cups

and shadows are caught with the red rubber balls
in the vents where the air comes up
and light is a tangled thing as bliss.

it hurts to remain and yet to grow
and see your height marked on a wall
and candles added year by year

and tears. and all you
know as a child 
is that you cannot tell

or find the one who disappeared before you

who will spell it out for you:
the reason why it hurts-
it comes from only being on the earth.

mary angela douglas 21 january 2016