the sequined shoes, the lamp that can't go out
the diary of Moroccan leather
the dress for any weather
figured in stars
the map of who you are
not were, witch hazel
for the bruises of time
assorted rhymes and candies.
the three wishes folded
into a plain handkerchief
an opal ring and patchworked things
for patchy occasions.
it's late now anyway it's Spring
the gang plank's down
and all you thought you'd won
shines in a mist like a dream
that recently fled
before you woke.
before you wake again
mid liquid after notes of birds
you'll remember the lillied verse
your Grandmother pressed into your hand,
the silver edged Testament:the worsted
purse with the little pansies.
everything is dandy Grandfather says
the flower fades but not the Word.
despite the rest of all you've heard or will hear
oh my dear
under His handmade firmaments.
mary angela douglas 15 april 2017