Disappearing Into The Picture

the angels disappear into the picture they are the first to go

having further messages to deliver than to the children looking for upside down

umbrellas, parrots out of place I trace the semblances and await the snow filled frame

with only the names remaining that once meant something when

unlocking the fairy tale cabinet des fee

who can say what now we should not be breaking this way

it's evergreen the angel whispers and leaves her silver shadow on the floor and do not be dismayed anymore we tell ourselves in her echoes as though we were lecturing our dolls and not our souls

I will weave it into my song with the pearls my Grandmother gave me in the long ago the creamy ones the ones I gave my sister after all

because she wanted them so

because i loved her ballades her wild attempts at the ballet

we will trace the semblances each in her own way what remains

understanding how time has fled for us though the inner kingdoms wax strong

and in their candle flares in a stiff breeze I know the fragrant petals of the stars

will come to me will come to me as though it were still April when we were April too in our cotton flowered shirtwaists

learning all the meanings at once, each in our own music finding the way

the thread of light that threaded through the necklace of our days

as though the outcome and the way home were already given

the dot to dot of it secure.

and grief the wine bright shadow of leaves only the rustle of old newspapers

and their conundrums, the colour of Sunday comics that came off on our hands

while we were passing through such marvel strewn lands

in emeralds like Dorothy, after the house settled or

coming home through the vast the spiced clover fields

and in a jubilant tear streaked daze

to what was always ours in the first place.

and could not be shaken like the glitter snow in the domes.

mary angela douglas 18 december 2020

i

1Mary Angela Douglas