Sentences

the beautiful sentence.
the beautiful sentence, alone.
the lillypad sentence

floating
the suspended sentence pale green in its estuaries.

on the wily  paper drawn in thick pencil!
I want to write in the largest cursive writing ever

spirographing in cuneiform on flaming poster board
with a Magic Marker

and each succesessive sentence even larger
because it is the way I feel
when beauty is reeling me in;

but the teacher marks me down for this.
like it's a sin

in the Sixth Grade, on my report about Jane Eyre
on Unruled Paper.

it has taken decades for me to understand
why this seemed tyrannous;and why I fumed on the orange
school bus home.

If you do this again...she said, not unkindly.

It is Spring. trellised with lilies, small violets;
the cream bright rose. and we learn madrigals.
a sentence for posies my

Grandmother says and she should know

Shakespeare writ large in sepia
in vast memorials echoing still;
my mother sings of Marble Halls

I will too, despite you all

whoever you may be who imagine
you are in charge of me sentencing me
for sentences ah

my bailiffs, cuffing me 

for the way they weave in and out of traffic
or how they appear in dreams;so scintillating,
the way they behave in public company

or pirate like, at sea, brandishing adjectives.
the way they distinguish themselves in opal suddenly

above lost centuries skywriting

on cloudy evenings perilous and clear
showing the way to the King
beyond the wistful the inarticulate heart,

clanging and clanging

the one and invincible Star.
the sentence of where You are.

mary angela douglas 18 august 2019