in a green chair she wrote to you,
under the shade trees,
of the roses and the lilies
and signed the postcards, Lily:
the children ate fudgesicles, creamsicles
dancing in the rain soaked gardens.
bread is cheap, you write back;
berries along the way;
the worlds mirrored in rain puddles.
ah, we will go there, she telegraphed.
I will wear my silver beaded gown,
the shoes embroidered with small flowers.
that was in the afternoon,
in the time of perfumes...
it won't be written anywhere,
and we will not say in the frost coated air,
waving goodbye to the last of the summer cherries;
our syllables, early december's frozen mist,
that there was ever
with thinking this way...
mary angela douglas 23 june 2016