a blank room

full of treasures

starfish gaping from sparkled nail polish enclaves

sheet music like sails stranded along the floor, the mattress

a frozen sea stained by someone else’s tea. None of it

registers. This is



The laughter that rides birds’ wings in the sunset any better

off than me inside my window? Do the volleys carry stories over nets over sand

touched by sun? Does the music long to se faire aimée, to make itself

loved once more? Yet I

am as inanimate

a doll

with fused fingers

of plastic, molded around a leaden bouquet

as my lace heaviness sits  forever

on a shelf, closed

hands holding



Image credits in order of appearance:

“Matryoshka dolls in street fair – Budapest.” By Marcosleal – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5031740

“Doll from the collection of the Guildhall Museum in Rochester, Kent. Simon & Halbig doll  bisque head, with composition body.” Photograph by Clem Rutter, Rochester, Kent. (www.clemrutter.net). – I, the copyright holder of this work, hereby publish it under the following license:Camera location51° 23′ 27.64″ N, 0° 30′ 10.33″ EView this and other nearby images on: OpenStreetMap – Google Earth, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=36348171


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