Why Can't They Tell Me Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

why can't they tell me the way back

cathedral angels in my dreams

they should know that



but they are seamless

stationed without utterance.

oh I would travel back



with even the slightest map



through the Spring mud

to see the wild violets again

packing only bread and butter



and raspberry jam

like a fairy tale quest

anticipating once more



a golden ending.

sometimes before daybreak

I am in the old towns



all the houses are there,

the same curtains.

the willowware pitcher.



Im in the rocking chair with my Grandmother

soothing me with the old tales

and everyone is there.because



it's near Christmas

my sister and me and all the dolls

apple checked and learning music together.



in the metronome's glare



I see the piano in my dream, I left the lid

and then it breaks apart

ice floes over the dam



the living room table



the melting of my soul

into the irretrievable.



mary angela douglas 2 july 2019