The Heart Folded Under

once we had roots of gold, dreams of gold, light,

peach light, the light of long ago stars 

the clouds in magenta, the sudden flare of meteors, 

autumns, the berries in cream 

the heart folded under the dovelike quilts of childhood.

once we had windows into the panoramic Easter eggs

one rose guarded by one swan and Grandmother played the

record of Peter and the Wolf as a lullaby to somehow let us know

that golden days are few and must be guarded

that the oboe warns

and the wolves are gathering.

I know that she was right in her rose taffeta dress playing Liebestraum

love's dream as if she were dreaming it up right there at her piano

for my  Grandfather listening in the living room

I wonder did this happen, were we really there

what golden age can compare with the least moment the moon sailed slowly

over our brick house. or Telstar, or when the pine trees rained down their pine cones

or gum trees the sweet gum balls

so that we might spray them gold and silver to adorn the Christmas tree

I am woven on the loom of the past not quite Alice through the looking glass

I wander in the world of trains that cannot leave the station

I know that memory is real and fairy tales.

it is the news that is made up now.

mary angela douglas 3 may 2021