Roses, Roses, Roses

these things could border the mind, if you let them:
roses, eglantine, a few stray stars from old report cards
the glitter and the glue the

perfume of our new shoes bought just in
time for school

the feeling of new things unwrapped in a
never before seen day our shadows
melting on a childhood lawn, we pray,

along with the strawberry summer cones.
or being left alone all day to read
inside the playhouse

the accounts of all that June brides wore
on a previous Sunday: the alencon lace
the orange blossom grace, the satin-

and the sequined veil, the seed pearls
oh to such avail my sister and I imbibed
each word in the paper and drunk on bridal finery

played with our dolls, wondering:
what is stephanotis and why don't
they just carry

roses, roses, roses
in all the colours

mary angela douglas 19 april 2016