The History of Twigs

for Christine Howard

sometimes they break off in the ice storms
found in the morning by children on the forest floor
because there among the ice shards, the light glitters.

sweet litter of trees cracked in the breeze
oh dear there you are. now it's Spring though
you'll make friends with the wild violets.

how low will you lie there in leaf mold or moss
hardly growing old or will it be your fate
to bear the weight and the lithe song

of the Emperor's slight nightingale
to uphold such music...in your improbable way
small twig or be taken home by the little girl

and sprayed gold for Christmas. "dollhouse tree.."
she will call you;then you will glow.
whatever you are I chronicle you

immune to war

innocent of trouble.
sweetheart of the ferns.
fragment, like my song, broken off

from the whole vast tree.
see. I have written your diary
on a leaf of gold.

mary angela douglas 4 july 2020