(to a little girl)
you don't know what to say
and so you crease the wind
or float upon the moment like a baby swan
or gather the light into your consciousness
as though you were the small bride of the sun
and tomorrow is the darkest day of winter.
you don't know what to say
and so you let questions go stranded
gipsy like, in a turquoise braceleted instant
losing the keys to language in
some shimmering nebulae's
laundry day pocket.
you don't know what to say
in the common fray
how to convey the angels coming and going
in the glacial clouds streaming far away
so you speak in light years
or in the manner of rosebuds
too velvetly to those too
impatient with your tears, your reticence
my dear,
are the whip smart practical
who want to they say
ferret out so they can put on display
what on earth can make you this way;
to cast on you such a mammoth eclipse
to make you go away because you make them
uncomfortable. you.
who will never be like
the other children.
mary angela douglas 12 july 2022;13 march 2023
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