Clockwork Doll

Alexandra Pierson

And on that night I dressed as a clockwork doll
turned to the right and left, twirled for all
until the crash cracked my face,
and they ran to piece me back into place.

Then, again, I was a clockwork doll
and I was polite and poised, in spite
of becoming a very different doll that night —
a splintered stem veiled from sunlight.

Still I dreamed to dance at the ball,
but they saw I was weak, just scraps of a shawl,
left me in a pile of candles by the cats and dogs
though my feet could still tap the songs.

My hair was golden, my eyes the ocean
my dress stolen from flowers in the garden
its ruffles carrying a cherry now forgotten.