No One Else Around

 

Lovely girl of six
with hair of gold
and face of innocence.

I felt a bump
in my blanket –
a lump unmoving
and steadfast.

It was her doll –
face contorted,
clothes in pieces,
limbs dismembered.

I would find it in my room
for the next three nights.
No matter if I hid it.
No matter if I tied it down.
It would appear in my bed.
Was it messing with my head?

I took it to a priest.
Bless it, father, if you please.
He looked with horror at its face –
eyes erased,
stab marks deep,
hair burnt
and yanked in places.
List of injuries
infinite.

I cannot fathom
who would do this to a doll.
The problem herein lies
with your girl
and not this toy.

After dinner,
I asked her, why?
Why did you do
those things to the doll?

She shook her head,
pigtails swaying –
a smile of pity
on her lips.
You’re crazy.
Don’t you see it?

Grabbing a knife,
she cut her arm.
I screamed for her to stop.
You’ll hurt yourself!
Enough, enough!

No one else around,
she laughed.

I looked down.
The blood was pouring
from my arm.

No one else around.

 

Poem & Photograph

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*This poem was originally posted on Poet Rummager’s blog in July 2015.

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