Rummaging about, digging in the PLACE where all the old things are, I stop. All thoughts of whatever I was looking for are gone. There she is, the DOLLY I loved the best and the longest, Thumbelina. She has lost the windup thing in her back that made her move like a “real baby.”
Her soft body is still FULLY stuffed, though her plastic arms and legs are a little grubby. I just sit, a little sad that she is not going to be passed on to anyone. A little sad that she no longer evokes much emotion. But perhaps it is enough that she was once loved so deeply by a little girl who cherished her companionship. Sometimes, what happened in the past is enough.

Georg’ann

Under the harvest moon
a shoeless woman wobbled
away from me heading east
at the corner a slight PAUSE
before turning RIGHT, out of view
nothing FUNNY, only sadness
in her FUZZY narrative
wearing leggings and a tank top
nothing else on her person
we’d found her asleep
on the floor of our garden office
FULLY an enigma,
in a story too familiar.

Heather