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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Personal · #1000472
I created a doll as an alter-ego.


Plucked for a quarter
from a flea market stall
an unwanted toy, an unloved doll
a surrogate daughter.

I made her dresses
from fine vintage linens.
Bright, silken ribbons
I twined in her tresses.

Two anklets I fashioned
with small bells of silver
for my iconic seeker
of wildness and passion.

I christened her Gypsy,
in Italian, Zingaro
for a zingy Madonna
was what I longed to be.

In Heaven it is said
we all shall be mystics.
Here on Earth, let's be gypsies
till we come to our end.
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