HAMELIN (REPOSTED FOR REFORMATTING OF STANZAS)

 

HAMELIN

["whither shall I flee from Thy Spirit? " from the Psalms...]

I saw crown molding tip the walls

of an unbelievable stage-set, real, at the time-

set the table

they will tell you everything

you're entitled to know 

while sipping their rubicund tea

on a lush and leafy afternoon you dream

is still your very own-

with your whole life ahead of you

as the saying goes

and still so near your own real

childhood home you could walk back there and be done with this 

Why didn't you

before they trained you not to love

or even be, as if they could…

and to fill their hands with your own heirloom pearls

meant just for them….

but I learned slow and never

to believe 

all their lost lovely angels far from home and

to fight the battles only

I could see -to know what's mine 

alone

not underwritten by game theorists

or Pavlov's pirates, looting my bright way…

as from the beginning of clowns-

and mesalliance

oh all my faceless springs in the name of God, 

my God, unused and lilac-

I'd teach the children not to ride

that monochromatic ferris standing by

the carnival children modified to sell: 

flowers waxen friendship-

and world peace...

I'll sing you the song my mother lent me

as she died: 

I saw the cream of God

brim at the top

and those who skimmed and skimmed

rich bubbles from my only Soul and from my rainbowed

hallowed, haloed home

I saw their skinflint empires rise

and the parties they threw each other

at each eclipse 

who could explain 

the vacancies of cranes

on the tilting horizons that they owned

and all the summers subcontracted out and

sparkleless I now disown forever! 

 

what made me turn around

to find

the trapdoor in the Night and

it was God up late, still

counting the tears of those waylaid 

as if they never stopped being: 

His own embroidery forever-

"Here's your doll finery, " He whispered.

in the voice of all rosepetals-

"I've hidden it here."

You are -pure life - I cried - I'll never give away- 

as if I could…

reward the kidnappers

oh my King where wishes turn to palms if we endure; 

I'll buy fresh groceries, pay the rent and

find the playground where they're waiting still: 

all my tin soldiers whirring in the dust-

I'm caught in

the lace of the day

and cannot leave You-

mary angela douglas 1-2 october 2011; 6 october 2023