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  • Sam Rivera

Desolate Doll

love you say, love

when the book club, bridge club, coffee clutch comes.

when you need to impress strangers on the street.

“Oh how I love the china doll my husband gifted to me,”

but you’re as indifferent as could be.

keeping a dusty white sheet from my head to my feet.

when my unblinking, big brown doe eyes, beg you to come play;

not until i need you, you silently say.

you won’t even give me the comfort of your voice…

you won’t tell me, not today.

so on the shelf i sit

sit down down down.

wearing your neglect as a dress.

wear it covering my porcelain chest.

though i don’t get played with

i never feel at rest.



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