we resist, throwing up colourful
as if they were party streamers
and pretend it's a holiday
not an emergency that never quite
and they send telegrams, furiously,
day and night:
lo, the Ship is sinking out of sight
say to yourself,
what ship am I on?
we're landlocked here.
but they persist in fears
and long for you to do the same.
and dream that meteors will
shatter your quiet.
then I'll be starlight,
you say to yourself.
then I'll be starlight.
mary angela douglas 11 april 2016