harkening back to the yellow road
to the sunflower field with the scarecrow
and real butter at home
the day the weather vane broke off the roof
my only memento;then song was my emerald
through all the unwished for setbacks
the sullen January mornings.
how? which way? was left to tell you
east west north or south
the thing I wanted to say
on an ordinary cloudy day
all at once a house can lift from earth
and you are living in the whirlwind
your hands clutching onto the curtains
your stock so low on blackberries, lemons,
clementines far far from the Christmas chocolatiers
the chequered tablecloths for years and the oil lamps;
snowdrifting sleep.
.
and everything that happens after that
well it may be merry or it may be flat
or we may be scattered on the lawns of God
freshly arrived but till I died
emerald ,emerald was my song.
mary angela douglas 6 august 2020
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