Vintage Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

it is a terrible terrible thing I said weeping to my God

in the snows to take the valentine heart of a person

and fold it, so



and pierce it through sharply with gilded paper arrows



sharpened to a point as though it were a target

but not of love, but not of love I heard the

snow whispering, the sleet as it hit the corrugated roofs



of utility buildings nearby while I walked under a sky

neither satin nor pearl

I have fitted my foot for labor and I no longer hear



the cotillions of snow and sleet passing over the world or see

the holly berries tucked into the crevices left by the ice

storms it is a terrible thing to wound the heart even in a madrigal



she sang with the winter storm and vanished

into the long ago

the vintage winds



mary angela douglas 6 september 2020