Monday, March 30, 2015


It's one of those days you know is coming the day your parents invite you and your siblings over to the house they've lived in for fifty years to put dibs on those items you want when they move to the small apartment where they can't take it with them and which everyone knows is in preparation for the bigger Move so when you hold in your hands at last the antique bisque doll the one you've had your eye on since you were three and pulled down two shelves and a small Lladro enclave trying to get to--when you've taken it out of its natural environment in the glass-fronted dining room hutch out of context the thing you mostly notice is how one shoulder joint has pulled free how there's a musty smell coming from the genuine human-hair wig how small the doll seems away from its shelf so that somehow when your older sister who has always been too damn pushy whisks it out of your hands and lays claim how you find yourself just letting go.