for the things we wanted to be true
yet were not, in the end,
we will hold small funerals in the afternoons
leaving our pastel paper bouquets,
playing a few grace notes on the piano;
the dolls will watch from the dollhouse
the icinged measure of our days
and then soon
prepare for Christmas in our room (with the china angels
who watched over us delicately)
holding the icicles carefully
with molded outstretched arms and the sweetest gaze
before the tiny white flocked tree from which glass
swans will rise.,,amid the pale pink, green, and lemon
petaled lights keeping us up at night...
with small tears in our eyes
for all the Christmas goodbyes
we will summarize in late January schoolrooms
how as summers loomed
happy we were at all the teatimes
when we thought of how it would be.
when we were grownup and free.
mary angela douglas 10 november 2021;16 february 2022
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