came back to me, postage unpaid;
report cards with a missing grade
and in the eyes, a missing glint
and jurisdictions that
had questioned my intent
while I was merely dreaming;
unfinished schemes and blueprints on command
sent to me by mistake
or by some angel's hand
of imperial warning
knowing how I was
partial to the truth
of all the behind the scenes,
the too sudden shifts in the scenery
crashing down on me:
the gleam in their eyes unearned.
but we mowed down all the miracles,
they moaned in a crafty sleep
swept through the house
turning over their furniture:
"all that furniture that you've accumulated.
while others weep."
mary angela douglas 23 july 2016