“Paperdolls” by Wyn Sharp

Posted: May 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

 
Paper dolls
Age five on a rainy day.
Mother gives me play scissors
and sets me on the floor
with a Sears, Roebuck Catalogue.
This is my book of paper dolls.
 
I snip around forms of model images
that sit, stand, smile or frown.
The lines around the images are jagged,
since I have little fingers.
 
I grow up, and think of paper dolls,
with the stark realization that
all people exist in individual books
of his or her own paper doll world––life.
 
Life snips with unseen scissors.
Words cut and snip at the heart.
Daddy taught me to believe
in honesty, integrity, and doing
things that don’t snip.
 
Age forty-five and it’s a rainy day.
Mother and Daddy are gone and
I sit on the floor, looking through
a scrapbook of old pictures, not a
Sears, Roebuck Catalogue––no scissors.
 
I see lines around people
that life’s scissors have snipped,
from images of human paper dolls.
 
The images smile, frown, and attempt
to look happy, but no one knows
the heart filled angst or joy of a human paper doll.

 

 

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