Fern Curl Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I believe every blade of grass that ever died on earth

is up in Heaven; God would be that much of a scrap booker.

and the red clover too


certain specimens of the wild onion.

some in glass cases clearly labeled in Palmer handwriting.

and albums of brown wrapping paper


to showcase the meadow lark, the finches

their feathers as they fell caught up by angels

or snowdrift, rising in the wind.


a jar of old marbles. the see through crystal blue

the tiger's eye.

and so many jams put by


the hobbits would approve.

what do I know of heaven.

just as much as you


reading my poem and watching the ferns curl

by some green river in the summertime.


mary angela douglas 25 april 2020