Ferias

this is the beautiful day
the day you will dance in small circles
to muted tambourines

the day you remember orange popsicles
the labyrinth of stars and former feelings
walking toward evening...

then we were grass green new

the world was filled with fairs
with incidental music in elevators
small coffees in the afternoons

and going home to your apartment in the city
wherever your postage stamp apartment
was at the time

buying the scarf threaded with glitter thread
one pink, one blue in Indian cotton
from the kiosk by the Metro

and Kafka in your head, Ratushinskaya

her dream of the cherry velvet dress.
pink flowers fall  on the way to the Museums
littering the pavements with grace

on the way you dream again
of visiting the Impressionists.
and living in that space

the world was filled with fairs then.

with summer sandals and the soles of cork
so that you floated down avenues
in a special dress of rose coloured cotton.

trying at odd moments  to appear you were a real secretary
though they never believed you
and you didn't believe yourself.

then you believed in God and Gaelic music
in feeling ethereal, not of this  place
isn't it beautiful

isn't it a beautiful day
when you still feel that way.

mary angela douglas 10 may 2018