Running about wildly with a joy for life
slamming the screen door behind me.
I rolled down the grass hill without a care
knowing mother would scream at the stains
on my pale bone colored dress. The screen
door would always slam behind me as
I ran in and out, in and out, in and out.
I'd run into father's arms when I'd hear
that sound banging all the way upstairs.
Playing with dolls of a family, reenacting
the lives of us: mother scrounging about
in the kitchen, father reading the news
in the parlor, me playing with dolls in my
dollhouse father made for my birth.
I remember a time clearly when the dolls
ceased to move, when the screen door
slammed one last time, a sound that
for once pierced my heart. The dolls sat
silently, tears falling from porcelain cheeks
waiting for the missing doll to return home
dead either in body or in mind...
Every time the screen door slams my ears perk
for a voice that I know I will recognize undoubtedly.
My memories are not as they used to be,
my mind withering away, but the dolls are still
as vibrantly silent as before even in loss.
Now the screen door is silent for all eternity
but the dolls are all together in their home.
http://www.darkpoetry.com/node/work/129659
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