her eyes face the pavement
in booming voices
secrets no one could know
tearing at her invisible flesh
piece by piece
bit by bit
the backside of her heart vacant
exhaling poisonous fumes
shriveling with each round
this assault will continue
as must she
this 4’x’3 painting is almost 30 years old – one of my dear sisters allowed me to stretch and contort her beautiful face for the purposes of art
where I have common brown – dolores’ eyes are beautiful blue
this verse was published last year, I reworked it extensively
every time I return to my older poems – I cringe a little, laugh sometimes, then rewrite
As a child, I never cared for dolls. My inner-tomboy wouldn’t allow it. There was however this one special baby doll, that my father brought home on a dark night long ago. Oh, she was beautiful. Her silky brown hair was fashioned into pixie and she had dark, malted milk-ball eyes. She wore a simple blue dress decorated with one little yellow daisy. She was the first doll I’d ever seen with eyes and hair like mine. It was love at first sight.
But my younger sister wanted the new doll too. She needed to add the brown-eyed beauty to her massive doll collection. My sister feared her sibling’s unusual desire for the plastic newcomer. She realized claiming her divine doll right in this situation, might be ineffective. My younger sister employed a more sinister tactic – she cried. Her blue eyes were quite convincing.
My inner-tomboy nearly relented that evening. Except as luck would have it, my inner-tomboy fell out of her upper bunk bed onto her head, ironically while showing off how far she could lean down without falling. She cried too – which she didn’t do often. My father who was within earshot came running in. In that tear-ridden moment, I asked for the brown-eyed, baby doll. Gazing at my pathetic face, my father told my sister she had more than enough dolls. And for the price of one head bump, the only baby doll I ever coveted was mine.
Sadly, I can’t remember what happened to my precious doll. Many years later, while at a younger brother’s high school graduation, I spied a beautiful, brown-eyed girl gripping a dirty, bald-headed Cabbage Patch Doll. She cupped the dolly tenderly to her shoulder. The afternoon sun was lighting her flawless face like an angel. I took a photo.
I came home that evening, took out my pastels and drew a cherished childhood memory –
I’m looking for a girl-a young girl. She’s about 4’5″ tall, brown eyes and sports a mussed shag. Chances are she’ll have scabby knees. She’ll most likely be wearing a blue, white and green plaid shirt. Last seen she was riding her bicycle. The stingray is like a vintage sports car in restoration. The metal frame is an odd hue-a sort of sepia puking-up orange color. The seat is banana-shaped and covered in plastic leopard. The girl is one of those tomboy types. And other than to say she’s tough and possesses a sort of indomitable spirit there isn’t much else to dissect. Don’t forget to look up in the trees because she could be hanging out there. Don’t pass by large mounds of dirt without searching either-she loves the stuff and will most likely blend in. She is a fearless kid who has a take charge attitude and a ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ smirk. If you should find her you may approach and say ‘hi’. Her name is AnnMarie and she is never at a loss for words. Oh, but don’t mess with her little sister, ’cause AnnMarie will kick your ass.
(I’ve been going back to older posts and placing images in some, I apologize if some posts load a little slowly-I’m gettin’ a handle on this photo thing and learning to use other apps to make pretty collages…fearless AnnMarie would be able to help me out. I must find her!)