state of confusion
She’s a porcelain doll of a girl,
captured in just right images
upon the mantel and in the halls,
with flaxen hair and sapphire eyes,
she calmly appraises her world.
Happiest in delicate dresses,
tendrils tied up in emerald bows
as though she walked in yesteryears,
a smile as sweet as gentle kisses
planted upon this waiting cheek.
A natural nurturer of regal carriage,
I look inside and see not a child,
but a wise and thoughtful soul.
Then she falls upon the concrete
as though it tilted up just so,
and cries out for her mommy
and a band aid made of love.
© 2000 Corinne Bailey