Thursday, May 17, 2018

There's An Angel For Going Out


[to my father, in memorium, Robert R. Douglas]
[4 october 1924 - 7 april 2002] and to The Arkansas Gazette

there's an angel for going out
when candle flame wavers
and one for coming in,

in a shifting of scarlet leaves;
dreaming, I was that song
in jeweled octobers, all along

all garnet to the very heart...
the one that puts violet creases
in the wind: then it is Spring

and the weights are lifted
the ones balancing grief with
joy.with

the justice of well made stories.
the broadsheets corrected.
we don't often speak in headlines

of the angels of the end;
of endings in gold leaf
and Sunday coloured comics

I want to think as if
in a blind snowstorm of thinking
through these too humid summers

the Pavillions at Petit Jean
favoring the angel of the cooling winds;

of the angel of returns, returning again
to first beginnings and the angels of light
in linotype scattered and snowy quiet.

like the names of Crosett,Kenset.Paragould..Magnolia,
Arkansas names like gold

we have lost certain angels, with roses bedight
gathering the children on rickety bridges;
under the red clay sun and by favorite creeks or

slipping out of our pockets at noon,  on deadline;
at night the moon like a milky quartz
in city deserts, public squares and in the cypress gloom

of old paintings. there was a refuge I thought

or in a Proustian bar of exquisite music.
Macarthur park 'melting in the dark' and our
commentary then; who leaves cakes out in the rain

hold your horses,green icing??
here is the melody and the land I lived in then
the gardenias in the fluted vase

when we were at home the last summer,
amidst the emblematic mockingbird, the applebloom
the angel of stars and staircases descending

into the Unknown, the banishing one

of disenchantments disabused;the cowboys in old
movies, the cartoons...like Depression era glass
rainbowed, the angel near the throne

who suddenly called you:not by your newspaper name
one crystal bell resounding
among all the others.the railroad tracks, the small

towns made suddenly infinite as you are leaving
and on the waves,unedited,
painted, printed on the silk screen of skies

by cherished pines and the hidden fault lines,

the angel of the mariners
of the soldier-chroniclers of Time.

mary angela douglas 17 may 2018

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