Get Well. We love you and need your consoling soaring beautiful voice. Don't let the bastards get you down. An angel came down from Heaven to sing and didn't win their silly contest. So What. The angels sing the best, bar none and you should know. You had good judges but an audience with poor judgement, not under your control.

I wrote you this poem today! Love, Mary Douglas

I Gathered Fresh Gardenias: You Were Missing

In Memory of Virginia Woolf and
In Hope, to Susan Boyle

I gathered fresh gardenias: you were missing
and zinnia periled summers waved me by.

I followed down the path of your demise,
my own breath caught in trees
above the Flood

and pressed my fingertips into
your orchid-backed mirror's
perfect pearl-on-pearl

turning through each
dream-curled edge
into the whorl of
contravening years

and sallow interpreters.
o willow willow war was near
but the kindness of your mind

does not contract; the crisp
carnation rooms are still
your own:

a crystal condensation's flame
on the flung-open window; the
inlaid diaries of quartz
and rain-

all chatelained gestures forgone-
for these moonlit cloud-inscriptions
of uncalibrated grace are written
on the evening sky.

sensing your angel's churning wing,
I cried.
o rose geranium stillness

violet sky
against which lemon lovely sounds were
splashing...

your apricot excursion's standing down
oh why

no second snow on snow's appearing,
starred like winter's cotillions,
only warmer...

your garnet constellations
break apart and my heart
falters

losing this kaleidiscope
forever
with no continuance:

the semi-precious laws remain in force.

mere sleeves of her egress remain:
sheer-beaded brocade caught
as the moment, strand by strand

too visibly dissolves.

desert me now, sotto voce,
as your angels melt in music,

gone

then I saw
brightness brightness

every shining phrase unshunned

and drowned in Light

mary angela douglas 30 may - 2 june, 2009