Dolly

Dolly

i was never your dolly really,
all stringy hair and laces
my legs instead are two organic
pencils hairy, that rarely look
new in stockings, my neck an overgrown
gosling’s, still my cheeks burn mauve candy for you to lick

if only they made dollies who preferred being
stuck in a corner to being stuffed with a diseased lolly pop
and another ladies misplaced hips, if only they did

if my gingham skirts werent
your obsession, darling
what haunted you most as
you buckled that other
ladies shoes?

perhaps youd remember my crooked nose whose
bridge housed spiders while you kissed her
or those grapefruits that section my legs
as together you would bathe in champaign

still my blank beetle eye click
running in place while you memorize my face

if only they made dollies who
preferred being stuck in a corner to
being stuffed with a diseased lolly pop
and another ladies misplaced hips,
if only they did

i was never your dolly really,
these rags werent made for riches
i guess i never meant to be your princess bitch


-Bree 1996