to all my ancestors...
we've looked in dry wells long enough to know now
the dry leaves moldering there lost insects, whatever else
dropped into them over the years will never turn into now
fresh spring water as they did before
with the windlass broken
our old hearts too
for the times that were not immune to sentiment
to songs about the oak tree
what was inscribed there
to those who interpreted then the languages of birds
unashamed of moss and the little white stones
and lighthearted valentines
and the summer all the berries were picked
until we could eat no more
I want to say o I long to say
with the dark summer tears running down my face
oh dear ghosts how could we have left you here
and neglected you so long
who were not ashamed to sing in any weather
unabashed and from the heart
all the feelings you had then about life
when you were still living it
mary angela douglas 12 september 2020
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