I wonder if we'll be on the other side of music one day
ushered in with pink programmes
or you will swing on the gate of it
as you did before, roller skating
in preludes, wading through scales., Scarlatti
geranium coloured.
will the notes sound like crystals
falling;will we still admire the azaleas?
will Grandmother spell out tone poems
while we listen to small records
of the great composers;
remember, when we're away
the reticence of Beethoven
how he was charged with Light
after the rains, the wind shaking the leaves free of raindrops.
will the sheet music be scattered through the rose garden
because we left the windows open
or glimpsed in the pink nightlight
short songs on the page, arranged.
our faces in cameo infant profile;the toy pianos at rest
and then, the nocturnes.the almond trees somewhere,
blossoming.
it seems so distant now
the way we dreamed it then:
both hands on the keys
the gardenias, scented through the back screen door
now we are carried each on such a wave
through portals on a ship that wasn't there before
we never booked passage on.
you said in your sleep a baby corsage!
I know you must have in your rabbit dreams
with the guardian angels and the metronome;
this is Heaven
this is home where
music goes on and Mama sings our birthdays
rose light through the curtains in the afternoons.
may it always be.and near the pines.
after a dry season
you will lift the piano lid
like a sunrise.
and small bouquets will arrive
for the recital.
mary angela douglas 14 january 2020
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