To My Sister Eight Years Old At The Piano

for Sharon F. Douglas

that was when she played the piano
each note falling like a flower
on the noble guests in the

salons though we were
only in Arkansas
but her Chopiana held such gleams

as to cause the farthest stars to
dream and draw nearer and soon
oh exactly where you are

the heavens were weeping stars

and the ice of it on our lawns
or the turquoise ringing
and no bell shattered.

as if each note mattered
more than a universe of pearl
and unrehearsed

perfection from the first

new Christmas etched on our hearts then
and dressed in the cherry velvet or the eglantine
the holly candled richness of it

burning down
with every wound
and every sound exquisitely that wound

of the music box tune diminishing
secretly, diminishing somehow
yet never finishing

as we had already begun to do
from earliest measures

that was when the magnolias in the yard

perfumed a vastness
how could we inhabit
this side of death

while the angels held their crystal breath
so that no note falling could break.
awakening the princess too early,

her baby carnation smile.

mary angela douglas 6 march 2018