I had a conversation with your face—in my mind—

It is the face, not the conversation, that is kind.

Conversation can laugh, but it has to use tears.

I would rather talk with your face. All the years

That took to make it! Slaughtered armies, forsaken,

Fell in green valleys generations and generations

Before, when your ancient ancestors, startled in peace,

Made confident in building, soothed in war,

Came away sorrowful, by the inspiring spring

Where one drowned once—the waters raged

In love—the god loved those waters more

In the darkness, and the dark hair and eyes,

Practiced to be beautiful among sad cries.

Today, when I glimpse your face which talks

To me instantly, fed by the historical years

Of a story and humor and its grotesques,

Seeking the escape from facts and oozing tears,

My soul cries out inside where I recognize

The something of your face and the everything of your eyes.

It is a waste to explain how your sweetest face,

Dark hair, dark eyes, is a catastrophe for me. A place.



1 Comment

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    June 6, 2016 at 4:22 pm


    Silence, Poetry! in the corner to which you are consigned
    thundered the someones everytime
    you looked out the window

    and not at the chalkboard equations.
    what is a nation mused poetry
    do I need one

    or a public education

    or who will plead my case
    if not Grace, she laughed.
    and the thundering began again

    since it didn’t know where else to go.
    let it begin to snow, she prayed so hard
    with her bright eyes closed,

    and cover up my disgrace
    and the faces of those who accuse,
    having nothing else to do

    than to shame the righteous,
    the Beautiful Altogether.

    let it snow words and facsimiles of words
    and let them drown in it
    and then.

    let birdsong come;
    the small birds to the jeweled Tree.

    mary angela douglas 6 june 2016

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