Sclerotic Dolls

Back to my dolls. Back to familiar,
sclerotic faces.
Mother gave me one to paint. I chose
the sea for her eyes
and
cuspidated obsidian for her mouth.

She was a fill-in.

Mother howled in on muscle pills,
red cheeked fury
steaming the air, burning my hair from
its soiled roots! My bedroom door opened
itself out of her way, scarred from past poundings.

I dove under my bed, throwing
my rock-like doll to stand as daughter.
She never turned into an
apple-polished quail. She just stood.

I laid in yellow paint under
bed frames; thick structure.
And never gave Sclerotic Doll
a name.

 

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13 thoughts on “Sclerotic Dolls

  1. You are…an amazing talent…the depth of you is incredibly captivating through your words and thoughts….

    1. Isn’t that interesting? I am a Psychology major and I find it extremely interesting how some people have a knack for something and others don’t. Mechanics, for example….I know people who speak it fluently and I have trouble putting any of the context into a functioning thought. It blows my mind!

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