THEIR BITTERNESS WAS NOT MINE

I remember the early frosts

the planet tilting a little awry

going away in the summertime

from schools and being at home

being at home, so gladly.

I remember the early school dread

what the teachers said

on happier occasions and less enchanting ones

snatching the radiance away and ill tempered

pulling the shades down over the sun

and later the iagos dotting the landscapes

holding on to the strawberry handkerchiefs

their bitterness is not mine

I understand

some people are born to be the early frosts

to put the candles out to douse the least enthusiasms,

early, and questing querulous and behind the scenes

disparage

the

gifts of fate and memorabilia they're not in charge of

because hey it's too bright in here

for candles when the dark of the moon is out

but you know

their bitterness was not mine

their itch to spoil

nor mine their insinuating exasperating doubts

directed at me and countless others

it's true a lot of equations I never learned to solve

but God gave me this one resolve

to carry on

even if only

for the sake of Song

to drift away from lies and the crabapple gossips

finding the opal glimmer inside the shell

to draw water from the freshest wells of beauty

all, all my life

and seek, emphatically, and to find:

full of the grace of serendipity,

the brighter side of Time.

mary angela douglas 15 february 2023