Thursday, September 22, 2011

Kewpie Doll

            And nothing that moves on land or sea
           Will seem so beautiful to me
– Equestrienne, Rachel Field

Little doll, carried home from carnivalé,
rustles her Giselle skirt in the wind.
She is as old as Ray Lawler's
Summer of the 17th Doll.

Her faded lipstick pouts an "O" as the mouths of girls,
words forming seduction in their heads.
She has lost her wand, her diamond ring
but not her good luck charm.

At the windowpane she raises her suppliant wings
and reaching for the stars
taps her ballet shoes against glass.
Fairy wings dispersing dust, as if she is back there

circling the Ringmaster’s voice
body upside down, pointing toes in the air
         - a girl in pink on a milk-white horse
           cantering over a sawdust course.



Published by Australian Poetry Centre, Melbourne

of Arc & Shadow

of Arc & Shadow
Published by Sunline Press, WA

The Joyous Lake

Par écrit

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