generica blanding

I had a doll. The doll seemed big since I was small.
She had one dress and that was all. I never worried if she’d fall.
Her hair was silver. Her eyes were black. She had two braids straight down the back.
I named her China. I don’t know why. I’d hold her close when I would cry.

I played with China every day. I’d make her tea. We’d use a tray.
She listened to the things I’d say. She stayed with me when we moved away.
I loved that doll. She knew my dreams. She helped me cope with family things.

I can still see China’s face. I don’t know how she got misplaced.
She was always there. She was my friend. I’ll never see that doll again.

*for china

pic by wonderella

of your apathy is a mute and stifling fog.

once warmth wrapped a blanket – shared, cuddled, spooned.

now.  this leaden layer crushes all air.  steals. steels. my lungs, my life.

my love – color – faded from the dull gray glaze of your detachment.

choking on my failure to keep your heart impassioned.

i am loser. i am let down. too much trouble. not enough.

i inhale and i am gulping. suffocating. strained.

swallowing the thinnest vapor of your vanishing affection.

What is it that you think you know? And where might you have learned it?

From books you’ve read? From things you’ve heard?

From facts you took at someone’s word?

Did you pass the test? Did you make the grade? Did you nod your head?

Have you always obeyed?

Would a knife draw blood inside a box?

Or might you need to wield the blade?

pic by What What / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0