farther into the story beyond the trial
beyond the cross examined miles
the three saints with their attending angels
beyond the toll bridge
and the candy house you must avoid
there is no void but peace
and the wind with bells in it;
leaves dripping after the rains
the path of flowers and eucalyptus again
where you are on your way to Grandmama's
with a basket of bread, mint jelly;
imprinted with ferns, the pats of butter
she so loves the colours of music,
the poems of Conrad Aiken of Rupert Brooke
the occasional summer
bottled cokes and all our drifting piano notes
and I could tell you even with my eyes closed
citing Reader's Digest jokes
that the sky is plum in the early morning
in my wool dress with the embroidered stockings
and coat
are there brambles there
no I said to the child on her way out
only among the wild roses
and in your mind that is still as a pale green pool
there is mystery but only
the mystery of goodness in a cruel expanse
do not step off
the spinning world
through some mischance plucking the honeysuckle
as though it were a harp
carry the white stones in your pocket
the ones resembling
reconstituted moonlight, after the fact
the pale birds glistening
reserving their songs.
the map that leads you
out and back.
the Good Book quoting you
right from wrong.
mary angela douglas 14 may 2023
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