A Baby Mobile As Impossibly The Pattern Of The Heavens Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

a simple solar system over the baby cradle swung
and flecked with laughter, glinting in the blue
of no clouds ever, diffused a prismed light on
Sundays in the afternoons and on the lemon floor.

the simple solar system, sung in many colours, hummed-
all night and the moon looked through a little envious;
said the moon in golden letters, 'soon, what wanders here is the high celestial

brought to earth you dreaming child,
making up your earliest remembrances.'
here, (they may remember later on) slept a child of music-
as if on rose leaves, as a rose may and

batting the simple solar system
with a sigh, a sigh of the barely beginning ruffling
the leaves of the beginning of the angels and
before the abc's.

mary angela douglas 11 april 2014

Note on Poem: impossible, but it happened anyway, you remembered it that way or
felt it that way no matter what the rest of the family thinks.