when we are young
and we are rooted in a certain rosiness then
that colors all our speaking and thinking
we do not realize what we are living through
with its daily chicken pies and homework
in later years will seem like a mirage
and wonder why we thought it would last.
that all would remain like a stowed train
on later tracks looking back and presently too:
the same rosiness in the sky
the passersby, the same, the storefronts
the same grocery greetings, the oranges stacked just so
at the markets where we say hello to those
we will always say hello to, especially at Christmas;
this is all we know we knew of Time back then
like the Timex watch that just keeps ticking
even when it takes a liking, the tv said
the man in the white coat fishing it out of the
fishless aquarium;
the way our Grandmother pins her hair before the dresser mirror
and then her hat so her hair, her hat isn't caught
by the Arkansas ever present breeze
and we never think at least not then
of how the wind of death will blow
leaving us behind and all contents to never
settle again in the pink brick house with the piano studio
setting my Grandmother down
and with the Heavenly crown
she dreamed of here on earth
before the vast mirrors in Heaven of her rebirth
pinning a new hat, with its small blazing veil
its elegance as if she had now
all the time in the world
which she only had back there in music.
mary angela douglas 10 december 2021;1 february 2022
