on the very page we looked at
we thought only this was how
it should always be as the golden hours flowed by
so river sweet
and ate our ice cream dutifully
dressed in our Easter lily frocks
and watched the clocks
to see if we could really tell
when the hand was on the three,
what did this mean?
was it time for Christmas.
glowing bulbs on the trees
in manifest colours?
how lily lulled our mother, grandmothers
would have lifted us in sleep
to cradle in the fleecy clouds
to roselit kingdoms ever after
if we could have been spared
our whole life long
even the little disasters.
and even now, I think
when subject to unwarranted power
when the soul is pierced and on the brink,
still it is in, a gardenia spiked hour.
mary angela douglas 23 july 2016