Rose Gold In The Autumn Afternoon Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the rose gold of the autumn sun

filters into the sunroom where my Grandmother's piano
lives where sometimes I played Grieg's Nocturne, or
Ravel's Pavane and diligent gum starred baby exercises

like the March in Middle C
in memory only now,
I gaze at the ivory keys, the grand Grand Piano

where she gave music lessons; where my much more gifted
sister played everything imaginable and with brilliance
at first reading, under the burnished star of St. Cecilia

and I miss

the sound, the sound of waters resounding of my Grandmother's Liebestraum
I miss so many things that seem to me, music and all

entirely made of rose gold, a softened gold resembling a locket
I would wear close to my heart, springing it

open occasionally, in these waning days,
most often in secret
to let the ghost music out

mary angela douglas 17 june 2021