TO THE SHIMMERING ON THE CLOCKCASE READ BY MOONLIGHT

the shimmering on the clockcase read by moonlight shines
in a light apart, inlaid, divine, pastel impearled the little
birds, carved flowers, suns and moons together
in the ekies that won't


ever set and this is in the play house I imagine
at this late hour
set carefully and made to last by the cherry wood banister
of a staircase to the Far Kingdoms


where angels sail on pale pink tissue clouds and that's only
tne first act of the play.
the tea table's finely set, the china sprinkled with flowers


with pastel cakes to match and thickly frosted, too.
and in another room, larger than Space itself the book lined
majesties, the vellum fine, fine leathers, rainbow hued,


with moire end papers as in the famous advertisements
you could only afford to read and in the closet
of your favorite doll, brand new, the
handmade Diors stitched tinily iridescent
bead on bead on rare chiffons


in rose garden shades.
you don't dream small said a little sister drily
before she knew what drily meant


then ate up all the sherbet mints for the wedding party
merrily dressed in her Christmas
velvet: candy apple red


(and her crystalline pumps, she added)
while we sat in our pale blue room
on after school afternoons murmuring "roseate", "roseate"
our favorite word of the day that

still bears repeating...


mary angela douglas 1 january 2015