Monday, April 03, 2017


we felt history a mere turning of the leaves
the red and gold of the beads unstrung
of the necklacing around us come undone

and the copper 

sun's crying into the silver cloth of clouds
for what could not be found
for the shadows of the flights

going over us in the turquoise air
and the doll finery coming apart
and I have the key to the jewelry box heart

and I will turn it in a plaid cotton dress
and the sash untied on the way home from school
and the golden rules unbroken.

or carry the milk tokens into a careful land
with one hand practicing the scales of opal
while the other hand weeps musicless

for the rainbow starred page
the acute brightness of the afternoons
and the strewn gold the cold of apples

in the fairy tale
with the inset moons
in the ebony dark

where we depart
in the summer grass
on the appliqued day

called suddenly away...

mary angela douglas 3 april 2017