Monologue On Another Day Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

we can start over said my soul
and I conversing in the bleak,
the mystifying hour

when it is Christmas in name only
and the cold rains drip from the eaves
of the house that could

disappear, at any moment.
oh, do not grieve, she whispered
silverly do not

though some deceive and others rant
and others mock us to the bone
until perhaps

we have no home of recourse.
and I said softly there will be red and green
and shining snowlights on another day.

the Star will wait.
on another day, not this,
we'll call it 'Christmas',

mary angela douglas 28 december 2015