Friday, May 4, 2012

Nesting Dolls




I know the generations
Clicked them together   safely  tucked
them, inside the other, womb to womb
 
Open Bertha  to find Mildred   to find Kay  
to find Susan   to find Angelina  to find Grace

Good little wooden women, painted on smiles

See how stoic the old ones are, 
they learned
to sit still when tangled hair was combed,
learned not to gossip, to hiss in a quiet voice,
learned to eat burnt toast (and be grateful for it) 
so the children would not have to,
and so that nothing was wasted.

They whispered to their children
don't wake him up
don't make him mad
don't be selfish
don't be loud
don't be proud
take the beating without moving away
from the belt
and, by example,
only lie to grown-ups when they cannot face the truth.

But the young ones are trying
a new way of being.

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