[after the fairy tale on The Shirley Temple Storybook Theatre...
'The Land of Green Ginger']
the land where you think you are going
is not the one that arrives
wrapped around in mist, pale balconies trailing
...a little out of sync;
clouds at the battlements
and in the air a golden something
that is unaware
of you in your small shoes,
embroidered as they may be
but which you dream of endlessly.
fasten the pearl insteps of the moon
you will until
it all comes round
but you're not on the map
and can't be located on the grid
or on the ground
though you, yourself,
are the Lost and Found and
though you lift the lid
to see what's cooking there.
and stand on the stairs entranced before
you enter the room
and finish the extra chapters,
before noon.
mary angela douglas 12 january 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem