Picture Books And All Of That

what were the picture story books for
now I think with their larkspur clinging fences
rose trees row by row
hardly a drop of rain that wouldnt be deflected
by cheerful umbrellas in every crayola shade
bursting open like blossoms on the storybook page
for all the people on the idyllic pavements
this is the world the child thought
this is the bright blue and yellow of it
and I am in it
as long as the story is read
as long as the rose is red
and the peony pink
and lemons in a blue bowl near the sink
and breakfast cereal loops in all the colours
and you will go outside and smell the yellow rose
like the little girl in the picture by the poem
sinking your toes into the mud and singing
oye small sandbox pail and yellow rosebud I can see you are a small sun
and Im in my sun suit and Grandmother will give me
small bits of toffee, vanilla caramels and then I will run and run...
it really was that way more often than not
enough to rival any picture book when we went out
to play in the sprinklers and the scent of newly cut grass
was enough to wake the dead and let them spring up
all merry again, dew sprung home for Christmas, back
and i thank you Lord those days were as they were
full of birdsong and lullabies only little things to cry about
and then be done until its Sally go round the roses again
til Kingdom come or the dusk is blue or
birthdays bloom in pink wrapping
so that I wish this for you now
and for all the children that have ever been
and blow out all the candles or was it the wind
last night streaking the panes with rain
as if the tears of angels had splashed up there
and then they had flown over our roof.
mary angela douglas 20 august 2020