Poets' Practice Pad

Gilded and painted,
the doll stretches its pinkish limbs
straight forward as if to surrender,
ecru hair floating on two sides
of her head, coarse, thick
like the whiskers of a sea-lion.
She stares ahead waiting
to grow into a child’s life,
to be forgotten
at the end, in the attic;
her future less than a promise
because there is only so much
to a doll.

Prompt: Write a poem about a doll





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