Thursday, June 15, 2017

On Remembering the doll.



The doll, broken it was,
Broken, and luved.

It was a walker.

A real marvel of its' age.

Damaged was it, I know not how.

I remember it from my youth.

It, with its' sister,
hung on mommas wall.

Luved them, she did,
Luved us too.

Momma cared for the dolls,
as she cared for us.

When I see the dolls.

I remember to care for the damaged,
the forgotten,
the unluved,
and broken.

For Momma and I were broken too.