an ordinary sky
might rain down pearls;
the children
trudging by with overcast sighs
to neighborhood bus
stop corners, the school day's world,
swinging their plaid
satchels, dreamed-
it's an ordinary sky
in almost december;
we would like to
move the
hands on the clock,
the weeks of the
calendar
as in old films on
the late, late show:
the vast days
ticking by like seconds;
or to be imbued near
the yellow cafeteria trays
as if with sudden
music; the Ghost of Christmas Past
on a casement
draft... floating
out of arithmetic
and never looking back.
oh that the sky in
sympathy at last
full up with
quelling angels
could comply:
brnging us
baskets of blizzards
from an ordinary sky
tied up with silver
ribbon,
the scarlet and the
gold.
and gaily knowing
nothing
we needed to know
but mystery
in the freezing cold
we'd burst
into the
schoolyards, still in the day
and freed from
history!
in the purple of
starry dismissals,
like the Magi,
on our way.
mary angela douglas
13 september 2016
