Thursday, April 21, 2016

To My Sister From The Pale Blue Toyroom

the icicle sounds of the toy piano
break off when I think of these:
the dolls in the antique crib

I never said goodbye to;
the teddys by the closet door
wistful in their florist bows

of pineapple yellow and near
the mirror in the hall we always
asked each other, does my slip show?

sometimes you didn't tell me until
after school and that was a little embarrassing;
swinging higher than me in the swing

I thought you would reach the moon
before the astronauts.
if I had a glass of Tang or an Instant Breakfast left,

vanilla flavored, I'd raise my jelly glass to you
and chew slowly remembering all the dictums
of my Grandmother

when we lived in the Kingdom of Music.

mary angela douglas 21 april 2016