Confetti Islands Dot The Map Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

to Robert Louis Stevenson

confetti islands dot the map...
I must have left it somewhere
mulled the pirate

sipping his eggnog thiner than the
clouds above red morning's warning sun.
ah, here's the one, in piratese he murmured

to no one:

green was the parrot sun when we sailed out;
flamingo bright our hopes to be mired in diamonds
by month's end big as peacock's eggs

but then, mired we were, though not in mermaids,
coffers of the queens;
floating near the ghastly shoals

when the scavengers came out
pretending to rescue us.
too late cried the ghosts and drifted on.

one spyglass floating on the soured, spilled jewels remained
for the one child scavenging for stars, not braided bread nor meats, wild cherry brandy...

he plucked it from my hands and learned to see

mary angela douglas 19 august 2014