Dollhouse

dollhouse

Passing the dollhouse, I hear their

low voices discussing how

to find a home rehabilitation

loan, bringing back memories

of Buddy Bigford and grand-père

running amuck. Of the dollhouse

Poppy built me, the envy

of Pearl and Barbara as they stole

the silver rocking chair back and

forth.  There were Kleenix box boats,

water wars in the bath tub. Very

soggy dolls, never the same, their

faces and limbs stretched by immersion.

Tiny yellow tea sets from the historical

museum. Dolls made from wire and cotton

and my mother’s old stockings. My

alternate reality.

 

2 thoughts on “Dollhouse”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s