Dolly
Johnmichael Simon
Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest 2013 (view all the winners)
Honorable Mention, Tom Howard Prize, Poetry
Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll – Cliff Richard, 1960
As soon as you see her you'll recognize she's one of them
by the bruises on her padded thigh, burns on her cotton rag arms
stitches undone on her forehead, hair full of knots, lacquer
peeling and when you turn her upside down she leaks
secrets, confessions, life stories, all come pouring out,
the cheating, the nights she threw all those bottles and needles
into the garbage, sure-bet horses that ran last, lotto numbers
that never came up, unanswered phone calls in the dark
cops, lawyers and social workers with ears tuned to other
stations, how they screwed her, how she never had a chance
to tell her real story until now. And you wonder, can she be
repaired? Silicone, plastic pellets, injection of recycled innocence
surgery to bypass the heart-place where weariness and
disappointment clog her fibers, hardened fabric and sponge
that once were soft and pliant. Maybe you could regress her
to some pastel organza and taffeta-skirted place in childhood?
It's hopeless they say, she's too far gone. Don't waste your
time. You might spend months, years, fixing her up, carefully
scraping off old paint, grime, replacing stuffing, stitching places
where she's coming apart. All for what? After you've comforted her
dressed her in shiny new clothes, paid for the best psychiatrists,
then what? You'll wake up one day to find she's drunk,
overdosed, slit her wrists without a word of explanation. But
compassion overtakes you, you're drawn to this role of rescuer
remember a sick cat you took in off the streets, how he became
fat and sleek, would curl up on your bed and purr. And there's
this emptiness inside you, deep and dark, going down so far
that you could spend the rest of your life just trying to fill it
with any whimper or tear that comes by, any broken doll's heart
that just might be repaired and made whole again, down into
that place where the two of you can rest, snug and warm
listening to that sleeping cat purring away at the foot of the bed.
