Saturday, April 15, 2017

Before The Voyage

maybe you packed the wrong things:
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
the sun

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