(to my Mother, in the land beyond christenings..)
in books, in music, and in dreams she lived
or tried to in between bouts of forgiveness for the uncherishing
world
and sought to be in this way, free
to sing as birds sing, not for applause but because she couldnt help
it
having a musical nature a heart like a tributary
overflowing into the river song
be kind her mother advised despite all cruelty.
this, we agreed, was reason enough for several kingdoms
let the earth impart what drudgery it will.
earth was an exile, we agreed on that point
for some, more than others it seemed
and prayer the only light
except in family Christmases, birthdays remembered.
when we are torn asunder I wish I would have said
I will pray for you in Heaven
in your rose silk with the dangling earrings
almost resembling diamonds.
I will tell the same stories over to myself
and wait for the dove in the branches of the silver tree
that she may bring word of you
from the far realms.
mary angela douglas 6 september 2021
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