[to my sister, Sharon F. Douglas]
when we set sail how lilting were the notes
of dream birds on the rim of Time
and now the cup of dreaming deepens
and now, is it almost tipped over?
how will we catch the kaleidoscope's
flaring like a rose, inset with emerald leaves
when our hands are so small?
or wave the wand where bubbles reach the sun
before they pop
or wobble over the backyard where the red ants
mark their highways up the bark of
the trees who loved us?
long summers have passed.
it's the seesaw moments I recall the best
when I was in the clouds
and you in your winter hood laughing.
on the ground.
I thought I would never get down.
now I would send you ladders of stars
and linen winds of coolness
if I thought they would reach you
where you are;
or roomfuls of gardenias
just to soothe you.
there. like a rest in the music.
in the pale green evenings,
still.
mary angela douglas 9 may 2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem