Saturday, April 01, 2017

The Backyard Of The Iris

the backyard of the iris,
all the stars
the rakes the green

garden chairs
are they still there
we wondered moving on

no longer fitting into
the pink seersucker dress
or the lemon striped

the velvet nights at home.

was it a dream that I saw violets
in the woods near school
or stood entranced

in an April sun
conscious of nothing, and no one
only the breeze through the open screen.

have I wept the years away undreamed
so that the colours of these fade
or watercolored, wash away

worn thin?

still I recall the fingerpaint instants when:
thumbprints of blue and red and green

on glossy paper glowed

more vivid than stained glass or Rose

and distinct angels in all the music drifting
from my Grandmother's pianos
past all beauty that is possible...

oh earth, earth, you turned too soon...leaving leaving
the rose beige divan in the living room
the aqua glaze on the lamp

the apricot sash
and the afterschool wanded

mary angela douglas 1 april 2017