[to Mr. and Mrs. Milton B. Young]
an orangeade sunset cools behind the trees
of viridian green so thickly laid on his canvas of
the rose scented air, or magnolia, gardenia,
anywhere astonishes and swings
his backyard hammock
for a moment's respite from the Red Cross, V.A.
and we recite to a summer's breeze
through our open window the
names of clouds as though it were a round
my sister and I
oh cirrus, cumulous, cumulo-stratus
beautiful everything
(we laugh at nimbus)
and eat charbroiled burgers in a restaurant
where the minute man stands guard
and deep dish cherry pie
with a pat of butter piping hot
or watermelon at a stand after the ball games
shading into deep pink and dripping down the chin
of Heaven how could it be otherwise
or the drone of planes fly over catching his eye
and he points out the sky trails mysteriously
or we have a small party for the moment
celebrating Telstar going over
drinking Tang for breakfast, instant breakfasts
crunching strawberry filled toaster pastries
just before the school bus comes,
goodbye my milky stars my beautiful everything
we will forget to say like a scene out of Our Town, our town
we will remember someday
outrageously the blaze of the nasturtiums
orange, pink, and red shading into purple
oh do not cry for what was left unsaid
since even then we understood,
packing our schoolbooks in
for scholastic paperbacks, instead,
it was an Eternal neighborhood
mary angela douglas 10 may 2014;20 june 2022
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