Sentences Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the beautiful sentence.

the beautiful sentence, alone.

the lillypad sentence



floating

the suspended sentence pale green in its estuaries.



on the wilypaper drawn in thick pencil!

I want to write in the largest cursive writing ever



spirographing in cuneiform on flaming poster board

with a Magic Marker



and each succesessive sentence even larger

because it is the way I feel

when beauty is reeling me in;



but the teacher marks me down for this.

like it's a sin



in the Sixth Grade, on my report about Jane Eyre

on Unruled Paper.



it has taken decades for me to understand

why this seemed tyrannous; and why I fumed on the orange

school bus home.



If you do this again...she said, not unkindly.



It is Spring. trellised with lilies, small violets;

the cream bright rose. and we learn madrigals.

a sentence for posies my



Grandmother says and she should know



Shakespeare writ large in sepia

in vast memorials echoing still;

my mother sings of Marble Halls



I will too, despite you all



whoever you may be who imagine

you are in charge of me sentencing me

for sentences ah



my bailiffs, cuffing me



for the way they weave in and out of traffic

or how they appear in dreams; so scintillating,

the way they behave in public company



or pirate like, at sea, brandishing adjectives.

the way they distinguish themselves in opal suddenly



above lost centuries skywriting



on cloudy evenings perilous and clear

showing the way to the King

beyond the wistful the inarticulate heart,



clanging and clanging



the one and invincible Star.

the sentence of where You are.



mary angela douglas 18 august 2019