Lost Things, Old Gloves, Old Fans, Pearl Opera Glasses Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

lost things, old gloves, old fans, pearl opera glasses
gazing on the moon; the clouds before the storm;
the autograph of God on all of it.

lost things, the glint of- something - in the rains
that childhood knew: the mist before the glass,
the Christmas past, the snows, the stained glass

stencils on the heart.
old dressers, wardrobes, costume jewelry
played with by the children, as if it were diamond lit.
but it was, you'll still insist,
weeping your sapphire tears for the

lost years, the lawn cut grass perfume,
the scent of clover on the graduation afternoon;
the ripples on the pond when you were new:

the dew point and the dream
the gleam beyond the arches still not traveled through-
poetry understood in the high old sense of it
when the heart streamed like a banner through it all.

and why have you lost all this. the soul said to the soul
drawing her cloud shawl closer
barely uttering your own name.

whole files remain of the tortured,
the torturers
and misunderstood
were the moments we scattered: pure gold

above the abyss
we longed to commemorate
above all else-

as if there had never been Beauty.

mary angela douglas 25 may 2014