Voice Prints Of The Angels On The Crystal Air Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

to my grandmother at Christmas, always

voice prints of the angels on the crystal air
remind me of your
rose-taffeta, Christmas smile-
the midnight clear you taught me to sing

the three pronged golden tuning fork of
Modern Library's Giant Walter Scott
under the Christmas Tree

delicate painted rosebud china perfect
for the dolls and packed in straw.
voice prints of the angels, all the snow

expectancies I had guarded in my heart's
white candle-flame
flares into Christmas, waxing now, in

my small apartment
and there you are again
not a bit ghostly, glad and
making ornaments from styrofoam

balls and sequins, glitter in every color
of the spectrum (just fill one Swanson chicken pie
pan with glue and dip, the other pan filled with spangles..., swirl)
and I am richer than diamonds, emeralds

pearls, rubies or the sudden topaz of
the Star
that we believed in- I believe in still,

oh Grandmother in rose taffeta,
made of music and tears

mary angela douglas 5 november 2013