I promised you what could not happen:
wax melted into diamonds,
the ruby vanishing into pearl
and to be jade myself,
in a swirl of snow.
how could I know
which task was first
or that on earth, they always said
none of them would be done
by one who lived wherever
I happened to live
with other people's curtains
floating in the breeze,
with the lease unsigned
and I like jade white jade
disguised in the falling snows.
this is not the clock on the mantle,
you complained;
this is not the stocking hung by the grate.
this is your fate, I thought;
I have nothing to do with
the leaves that skirl before the door;
time that slipped past you
as though you were born ghostly.
mary angela douglas 20 june 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem