those pinpricks in the sky we call the stars
her mother sighed or maybe it was the wind
through the night curtains
in the way back when of all whens
taken into account.
rummaging in the dresser drawers
we found the rhinestone tiara
while the grandmother slept music
and we learned the stories of the glass mountains
the golden apples rolling down again
and the knights disfigured making the
attempt no more so that old candles wept their wax
into the cornices of the moon.
and I have gathered the lilacs and the lilac blues
and the pinks wept the princess
and angels harvested her tears
and this went on for years
in ink understood and bound with ribbons
of the letters reserved and not sent back
we found in the attic of the stars
and behind God's diamond face...
in the beginning of sorrows.
mary angela douglas 16 march 2017