Tall Tale Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

finding the door behind the door
we smiled in the garden
and were free of the mountain passages

where the roses blew
the clouds even cloudier than before
and the skies grew pink from it and

wouldn't ravel and the roads weren't gravel
they were gold as was foretold in the newspapers
back east when the pioneers went west

and the cream never curdled and the sun
never set in the west on the year round strawberries when
we were dressed in our Sunday best even on Mondays

in bonnets of silk and dresses of polished

poplin, and carried baskets of mignonette
as if we were valentines when the neighbors stopped
in for ten layer cakes, fresh coffee from the springs

and gazed at the fields already plouged
when wishing was everything
and helped us rake in the jewels while the

babies danced the highland fling
and drank from the gourds of amethyst
our fill and if you believe this

here are hills upon hills
of yellow diamonds on the wide wide prairie everywhere
and you don't even have to say your prayers

to find them

mary angela douglas 1 august 2016