we wanted the alphabet written in rosebuds
like icing on a cake
like sparklers at noon
out dazzling the sun
or caked in sand with a ruffle of wave.
it's hard to say in sounds you may believe
what learning the letters meant to us back then.
but I still feel that way.
let them spell out the birthday of the beautiful
in pale green candles lit
or be the flickering of the shadow of leaves
on a garden wall.
let them bloom with the violets
under the sudden snows. the least birdsong you heard.
and ever after, let it be the Christmas of Words.
mary angela douglas 26 may 2020
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