I know things about the things you know
that you think demonstrate you are the grownup
of all grownups
and so at your doorstep I can no longer go
with my little may baskets,
even with my best wand
and rhinestoned spectacles, my folk art dress
and beads
my fairytales unimpeded
to lead you gently back to before you grew
to know so much that isn't good for you
who don't know who you are at all
but when you were a child, you knew
I remember back that far among the rustling
trees a mysterious
moon...the lavender blue
in the world you must choose not to be
thought so wise or falter into their disguise
to be truly you you must be a simpleton
like when you were twelve and still tossed
gold into the wishing well
gold coins or thought you did, the chocolate
wrapped variety
and thought of saints and dragons in the world
and fell asleep dreaming of your cutglass
sparkling kingdoms
where love is always true and rainbow pleated
signed off on in cloud covenants
and requires nothing but to be true to the
original Oringal,
music the music the way it was written down,
even more, the way it was felt is feeling still,itself
when all others leave the room
still to believe in chivalric codes
even when the roses are all withering
but the soul blooms only
where there is no snickering at the truly
golden
beauty for its own sake, beautiful
and for God
you cannot forsake and be the same
Ah, well. let time be.
you've had enough of me and my admonishments
and of birthday candles and honest revelry
the taste of strawberry ice cream is wasted on
you now.
the brindled cow sold for the magic jelly
beans.
you think you are ahead
oh my dear but you
left worlds behind instead
better far than those you barely function in.
I know things about the things you think you
know
and what it cost, is costing still
and so I weep into the violets a foolish
woman,
girl or crone; a rippling image holding on
gliding backwards slowly into the mirror's
mirror
mary angela douglas 13 october 2022;20 february 2023
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