Sunday Dinners

when we were on earth
our dreams weren't weighted
so that we needed always

furniture
to keep them from flying off
into the clouds

some people said child
your head in a book
is like a cloud too

we will diagnose
your cloudiness.
then God in his mercy

caused it to snow
and only you knew it
was snowing dreams

empathetically

but in a way
the doctors could not tell;
it backed them up

into cul de sacs
where they had to shovel it away
till they forgot who we were

never having known themselves,

those who still bore a starry mark
on our brows who somehow managed
to work for a living 

because we didnt want to let down
the ones who had raised us.
who had their hearts torn down

like old billboards

for the sake of history
that horrible racket
in the background

that kept interrupting our sunday dinners.

mary angela douglas 25 november 2019