for the things we wanted to be true
that were to the end and then, farther on
we will hold pretend funerals in the afternoon
leaving our pastel paper bouquets behind for them all
playing a few grace notes on the toy piano;
the dolls will watch from the dollhouse
the isinglassed measure of our days;
preparing for Christmas in our room with the china angels
on display and
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 always up at night...
o, going away...said they
with small tears in their eyes and dreams long fled
it was said, but not by me
or only fleetingly, perhaps by them
the toys who were our friends who spoke
but sparingly yet felt it all
for all the Christmas goodbyes
we will summarize in late January schoolrooms or
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.
that's what the toys said to me.
later, discussing it among themselves.
trying to paraphrase
what was beyond their gaze.
what always would be.
mary angela douglas 10 november 2021;16 february 2022;11 april 2023
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