silent ladies

Staring at my sister's Royal Doulton figurines.

you sweetie, you're

okay, stop

scratching, they're

 

gone now,

your arms are

raw red.

 

honey, shhhhh,

you're safe now,

they can't hurt you,

 

i won't let

them touch

you, pet.

 

love, i know you

don't trust me

(how could you?)

 

but know that i

am doing this

for you,

 

you beautiful,

broken girl.

i'm tired

 

of your tirades,

but there's nothing

i can really do about it.

 

you argue with

me, flatten

your palms

 

against the table,

smack your fist

down on the wood.

 

such a pretty,

polished figurine,

starched stiff

 

and bleached white,

you stand completely

still on the countertop.

 

dearie, i think

you've shattered

on the tiled floor,

 

pieces of fine china

scattered and sharp,

lying on the ground

 

as if they have no

recollection of their

previous splendor.

 

she is no longer

grand, instead

she lies under

 

the stars with

a wishful gaze,

her blue eyes

 

ethereal in the evening

light that plays across

her cheeks.

 

and oh darling,

with porcelain skin,

don't stay a statue forever, please.

The End

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