Moving Day (Final Draft) Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

unheard melodies are sweeter John Keats said



sometimes I feel they are the only ones left



the Emperor's nightingale sings on



over the graves of everyone



do angels listen then



do angels listen to those who have no friends



who mumble to themselves in odd corners.



perhaps an angel is standing right there



receiving it all into a gramophone



that plays in Heaven.



how to speak we learn our ABCs.



we form words.



sometimes our parents are pleased



we can ask for the bread and butter



we say small words and feel their glow.



I thought that words would be my coinage



in the world but I found the sound of words



drifting from me oblivious as snow when I turned



to another and said anything,



even the dictionary meanings ah sad gleanings



beautiful language has been evicted from the world



must fight its way through crowds



must learn to listen to its own pearlescent echoing



and someday to stop sobbing.



they kept returning like a letter sent



all the words that I had lent



to everyone in the world that moved recently



is everyone moving then



is this the general moving day



to escape the velocity of words



half heard and down a bruised alley.



everyone's moving away from the unheard melodies



I will collect them now like fallen leaves



and press them into the hold of



the Lord's quiescent, listing ship of snows



mary angela douglas 23 april 2020