A Dolls Eye View - Poem by Ruth Walters
Dolls sit among the cushions
as though they are waiting for her.
Their porcelain smiles, fixed,
their eyes wide, a cobalt blue,
and their dresses have lace collars.
Tiny tea cups on saucers are
arranged on a small table.
There's a pot with yellow flowers,
taking centre place. It's surrounded
by plastic cakes and pastries.
On her bed is a huge rag doll,
it's flopped over, looking helpless.
Her nightie is on the floor
covering her slippers but the toes peep through.
Soon she'll be returning.
She'll run in daintily,
go straight to the corner where I sit.
I, with my broken arm, my one eye
and bald head. Then she'll pick me up
and call me her baby.
I was the first doll she ever had,
still here, still treasured,
but failing now, roughened by use,
by play times, but thoroughly
and most definitely loved.
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