I’m a porcelain doll,
all cracked up.
I’m a rag doll,
the stitches loosening
from too many washings.
I’m a paper doll,
all torn up.
I’m an Amish doll,
my face sometimes blank
when someone says two words
that sound like one.
I’m a Barbie doll,
all glammed up,
carrying two heavy weights.
in need of repair.
Who can fix me,
but the one who collects dolls
and puts them in his dollhouse—
so pretty to look at,
for no one else to touch but him?
The First Mr. DeWinter
His wife had been a mystery to him,
and he searched through everyone she had ever known–
getting secondhand memories that seemed to contradict,
thirdhand accounts of those she had allegedly wronged,
and rumors of those wrongs she had sought to right;
he found himself more confused than ever,
for she was,
Canvases in a Locked Room
When segregation of the old from the young
became The Thing To Be Done,
the old died younger,
and the young could not see
past their own experiences.
Generations of civilizations
were limited their myopic, peripheral visions,
and wisdom was lost forever.
They connected over coffee through chemistry,
disconnecting over plagiarism and political science,
only to reconnect over hard liquor during a shared dry spell.
The Remainder of the Day
The day is releasing its last breath of life,
giving up the sun-ghost of eons past,
while I sit on my patio with my stack
of medical books—
in front of me,
my husband and daughter playing blocks inside
for him to trip or step on later.
I watch them through the window—
the amber lamplight a contrast to the
lavender and periwinkle
The window frames this little world
that I have stepped outside of
so that I can do what I must do
to hold it all together.
Jackson Trune, First Class
she measured all men,
so that not one could measure up,
for they continued to change,
even as the one she believed to be The One
remained more beautiful in death,
than all the others had in life.
Her Sense, His Scent
Tony was Nautica,
Gino was speed stick
with a hint of spice,
and Trace was a Stetson man.
Ryan was Eternity,
and he was hers
for just that.
She loved them all,
save the first,
who had led her
to the rest,
for it was after the first,
that she no longer knew
what she wanted,
but what she didn’t want.