They start out small, nervous with detail,
labeling with a felt tip marker
the price on each little china plate.
The ink bleeds and floats like a plant root
digging through so much soil paper,
like a seashell
What a memory,
what history laid out on the cheap
No one wants this, he says,
lowball offers on someone else’s
memories. Save your money,
he yells to the woman with the felt tip.
This is overconsumption.
A breath between
the things that we want
and the things that we fear we need.
A breath we think might save our lives.
I lift the doll from the table.
Trace a finger over her pursed lips
her plastic needles form eyelashes,
lost somewhere in the backyard,
her chipped finger
un-stichable body tufts of grey wiry cotton loose.
what soft hands,
Tilted her back,
cheap plastic pursed lips,
one eye closes
one stays open
staring right up into the sun.
19 hours ago