13thWR

THE COLLECTOR

I found you in a stranger's box of
attic throwaways.

You're sprawled naked on my sink.
I drip water over toes, make
way to face.
Mouth molded in a permafrost choke I
jam it with a rag,
dress you in gown and
bonnet made of eyelet lace;
like a mortician,
pose you on a pillow packed chair.

My menagerie of dolls have
open locket eyes.
You're a freak with
vinyl lids sealed like
my dead daughter's.

I yank those scrub brush lashes.

- Melissa McBride