in Heaven it wasn't written this way:
all classroom textbook beef jerky dried
the kings were in the footnotes
even when they died mid circumstance and pomp
in tiny print not even the dolls could read,
and they could read...oh such a romp
the artisans were tired
and tuckered under the shade trees
(from being that organized.)
and purple testaments belonged
to the gilly flowers,
to daydreamed hours
and Audubon led the choirs.
lest we forget
the farmer's almanac inset
with silver moons
and the whens to plant strawberries
illuminated like old manuscripts;
recipe clippings cut and saved
in newspaper columns
from a distant age
for Lady Baltimore Cake
oh everything that quaint
and other sundries from
the fancy catalogues, the wish upons
could be had for a song
just by gazing at the page
by those called average, civilians
riff raff in their Time On Earth,
wow!
in silver spooned rebirth
imagine that Heaven gleamed
for the ragbag sorters
and diffident daughters
with the miffed in dimwit quarters
looking on, in their petulant dawn at
angels in the corners of antique maps
helping their ships set sail
the ones they said would fail
in the small ponds
and under the bridge
with swan carvings
where the children played
the game called
Former Days
as they were remembered by the
poets exiled
elaborating on jade trees;
how it felt then in Tivoli
when the opal winds blew
the stars' clear panes out of the skies
make way make way for Apple Pie
Applique and the ladies painting china
subsidized in crummy retirement homes
and it came their time to die.
all Heaven knows, even if you don't
you can quote me:
that to welcome them
all Ages folded, then
into one Dantesque Rose...
mary angela douglas 30 november 2018; rev.23 january 2019
