once I had bracelets of light
small bells on the hem of a blue gauze dress
I wore to be summer in a play
of my own choosing
honey from a teaspoon
spooned over toast
with the honeycomb, such richness
Debussy, in the glasslike afternoons at home
and the same feeling in the music
transposed my soul into pearl wonderment
how was this gone so soon
whirling away from me
like a colour drenched ferris
so that I no longer wore like a coronet
the white and gold flowers in my hair
or prayed by the rose bushes in Hans Andersen
I ask myself now
in small rooms
the color of corn silk
and I wait for the final radiances
of God.
mary angela douglas 17 september 2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem