we are all unlikely people she half thought
turning over the rain soaked pebbles in the road
to reveal, she thought
the less jeweled side
all brides at the altars of uncertainty
paper wad hit in the classrooms
long ago
and the desks when you put your
head down to rest
all smelling like taffy.
why can't we go back
apprentices and mouseketeers
and start again some Parents' Open House Night
the notebook open at the first snowed in page
and arrange it so
we don't care what they say
but glory in the way
imperfection has its beauties too
and dreaming never minded
about that.
mary angela douglas 15 november 2016
You know, the funny thing is, when I write about a thing, whether in a poem or just a note to myself about time travel or starting over or anything I almost feel like it happened when I wrote it down, while I was writing it down. That's why I try to remember or think of happy circumstances as much as possible in my poem. Like wishes sent up and paper folded to God in the classroom of earth. Thanks for your comment. I feel that way, too!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brings back memories of my childhood and school days. Thanks for posting.
i'm so glad it brought back good memories to you! Thank you for reading it and understanding.