Who Will Take The Song And Lead It Home Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

in memory of my grandfather, Milton B. Young

who will take the song
and lead it home
like a lost child

on paths overgrown too long
to trace
or will this music fade
with no one left
who remembers

we were sitting on
a summer's curb
and the ice cream truck
went the other way

the balloon man went
north as many poets have explained before me:
the snow cones
melted after a death

in the family the storybooks
in the attic were
no longer stored

who will take the child
and lead her home
like a lost song
past a screen door slammed
past fireflies scattered

in the dark:
holding hands as we cross
a street far wider than

before

we were orphans
on the curb of the universe
incapable of choosing

left or right
hoping to be found by nightfall
by angels or by someone else

hearing the dogs bark into their
bluest twilight
the children at ghostly games;

sensing the chicken pie for
dinner, the frosted cakes
the important birthdays
and the pink-bowed presents;

the Easter eggs forgotten in the grass
where dew fell
last

waiting, again-
just to be called inside

mary angela douglas 24 february 2009