Monday, May 21, 2012

Mary


You stare at me from the shelf across this tiny room
Where I sit alone
There are ropes between us,
So I am not allowed to move you to look away

But your eerie gaze,
Vacant and dazed,
Targets me and draws my eyes
Back to your cold pair without pupils
Entirely white, you are seemingly unassuming
But I know a little bit about who molded you

She was depressed, they say
Suicidal, some conjure
But regardless of myths, sad and in need of care
She died young
And now we are told not to talk about her story

But maybe if I knew what her brain
Was telling her fingertips when she made you,
I could stop staring back
Maybe I would find out she thought about her three sons
While she worked,
Or maybe about her illustrious husband
Whom she loved and admired,
Or maybe she thought about her own growing love for art
As I might

But for now, I keep you at the corner of my eye
Just to ensure you won’t make a sudden move

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