By Next Spring You Won't Feel This Way

by next Spring you won't feel this way

when the flower snows lift off in the winds from the trees

that you loved so

the ones of plum and the pale ones, the ones

you imagine are tinged pink and then you find

they are peach coloured and the april earth is a small

emerald set in space

so that St. Exupery flying too near

is blinded and crashes again into a foreign sea

or into the sands and is free again in the lavender dunes

to make up stories. and summon whatever he can

to forget history the dates of wars the price of cinnamon

the way the sun glared down only on

some people's backs in the sugar cane don't think of that

regulate your tears sad angels

or you will nearly drown like Alice

becoming too small to reach for the requisite key

left out for thee

on the sweet glass table; the cherry lacquered bottle labeled,

drink me

not ever stepping into the garden

where all the roses were talking about,

about only her.

not to mention, the irises.

where the pages stirred, and you read pure gold

the sun of orange bitters made.

the toffee scent of shade

when the skies were cerulean

and we knew relative peace.

before our friends in the afternoon

drifted away like clouds.

mary angela douglas 13 july 2020