They Would All Find Out Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

what if you were swinging in the playground swing
on the very playground you were on at first
the ghost of yourself

or the air swings the front porch swing
as though it were made of flowers
and it is evening and you feel

you want to sing something
what is it
the plum colour of the evening?

the wind swinging the blossoms?
the birds indiscernable
missing the moon's silver.

what can deliver you from this feeling
as if you were suddenly made of lilacs
and you couldn't speak of it to anyone

or break the spell

and you knew, in your flower self
the moon had disappeared from the sky forever
and in the morning,

they would all find out.


mary angela douglas 27 december 2018