The Little Clues Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

sometimes you don't pick up on the little clues

even though you watch the news

the sky darkening in the middle of the day


the tunnel of silence in birdsong

you keep moving right along

engaged in small tasks at home


the washline's out

and it's coated with rime


the bird's won't stay

not even with lime


the leaves have packed their bags at nine

and even the stars.

and you're at home without a car.


here you are then at the adding machine

keeping count of all you had seen

even the fleeting warnings in dreams


the sun peeled like an orange

from way back


the train veering off the blue track

the inside mechanism of the clock

that ticks when it's supposed to tock


and all that you held dear

vanishing up to here,

the last front porch.


and you the formerand you the almost scorched

with nothing left to

compare yourself to.


in a jeweled whirlwind


hidden hidden in God.


mary angela douglas 7 may 2020