Tabula Rosa Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

[to my mother and grandmother]

oh I'm the tabula rosa perhaps she sang
in the light opera she made up as she went along
dusting shelves with the Queen

for they had fallen upon hard times
and only ate from the lavender dishes
on Sundays.

how would it seem to you she trilled
in her calico dress when she was only twelve
if I grow up to marry an undertaker and

become an inspiration to him in his work?
perhaps they laughed when snows curled up
at the doorstep and the screen door creaked.

I wasn't born yet.
how could I know about the roses.

mary angela douglas 13 august 2015