Once Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

how many golden ages have we dreamed
and then woken up in factories;
sewing seams in the fairy tales

and then, the strawberries and the cream
too beautiful to consume
and so we don't

find reasons for this
and was there is there
continental drift

in between our sentences
when in one sided conversations
it begins to snow

and the children mouth
what once they could not know
and still can't say, is it from fear?

the golden, the golden
once was here.

mary angela douglas 2 august 2016