Published in Zig Zag Lit Mag, issue 10
I recall the December
Barbie arrived in our home,
a new baby
me, awestruck, reached out to touch the smallness
trace her delicate features with my fingertips
tiny feet
a marvel I adored
scent, benign and sweet
silent—such a good girl
dressed in black and white at the start so as not to garner too much attention
Years after, she traded up for the pink crinoline prom dress and backless heels
*~**~*
A never-ending smile morphed into perpetual smirk
her eyes, dead pool
I am seven;
I become thirteen
my adoration melts like plastic shoes held over a flame
“You cannot compare your
dishpan hair to my blonde ponytail.
I am your statuesque mini
you will understand the unachievable— this tiny waist
though you will try like hell to mold, flatten, chisel
hate yourself
eat an apple a day
feed on nothingness, drink the air
still, you will never be me
I am the love of antiquarians
vintage, chic, collectible
ruination of your child/woman body.”
I remember daddy saying,
“If only we had kept her in her case,
she would have been worth so much more.”
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