Monday, April 10, 2017

From The Book Of What Will Become Of Us

birds will fall out of the sky
not the birds of fable
the earth will become unstable

also the stars
so that you won't know 
where you are anymore

unless you're still at work
dirt will become fine gold
so that no household

should be dusted anymore
leaving the children time to play
with the falling stars all Saturday

to bury the birds
with small ceremonies
and flowers.

to breathe wreaths of conversation
into the air for hours
before a new Ice Age descends.

to bicycle everywhere or pretend

to eat raspberry ice
in between meals on a dare.
to know how it feels

to live unanchored and not to care
except I adore you, oh Lord
to gaze at the three scoops of ice cream

in the children's magazine
always mint, pink, and chocolate
on the page opposite the puzzle

you will not get to solve
before your parents come for you
so that you will always wonder

how would it have all turned out?

let it all resolve into the dream of what we were then
before calamities set in
and the world was still sequined

mary angela douglas 10 january 2017 rev. 10 april 2017