Sunday, November 20, 2016

The Gleaning

I will go and glean from the fairy tale fields
I said to the wind when she was listening
for the outworn stories of men, for the

sheafs bearing down and I with two small hands
could not gather there.
or then it was winter and in the soft snows

the raspberry skied I lost again or was lost,
witnessed by those who pointed out mysteriously
you're at the wrong crossroads

move further on
for it is time the fairytale clock designed
to chime for those we've screened

kicks on.
I will leave you I said inwardly
much as the wind does

making little sound
but only what the trees can hear
and at the end of the year

when iced bells chime
and recognize who I am
my hands filled with snowy blessings

my watch broken in half
by the whisperers.

mary angela douglas 20 november 2016