whenever you view the veiled snows,
vectors of moonlight falling across
old floors maybe you think to yourself

I shouldn’t update the vintage lace dress
but wear it as it is.
this said the princess to her closet,

to the mirrors rimmed.with frost.
whenever I view the dimming snows
I think of old stories lost

of the shirring of
evening’s swallows, I think of them-
of the cost of sunset silks.

and how alone they were,
the poets, badly underwritten.
slim candles

burning down in the
cold platter midnights,
olive loaf sandwich.

the last deviled egg.

the former picnic fare
7 up in a paper cup
7 maraschino cherries in the dregs.

and when I think these things,
of how awful it was for the
mermaid growing legs

and then, a Soul-
a pall comes over the kingdom.
the foolscap crumbles to dust…

I dream of rust continually
and of the dearth of wings.

by Mary Angela Douglas