Doll Hair

I don’t remember
a thing about his looks.
Came in the night,
he tore the hair
from the Barbie doll
as it lay beside me.

The plucky sound,
like pulling a sucker
off its stick,
distracted me from him,
his heaviness and sweat.

My arms were caught
under my back. My right
cheek, jaw and ear
pinned to the carpet
under the sticky forehead
he had pressed
against my left temple.

That’s how I saw my
doll on her back,
head twisted and
hair torn in clumps,
same as me.

He rolled his forehead
from coarse hair to nose
on the side of my face
as if he were trying
to stand on his head.

He didn’t.

And then a wet mule sound,
or a pig, one of those boars
like in a story, and
his heavy hot body was
deflated.

He pushed himself off
still clutching my doll.
Her soft plastic face
smashed against the floor
rose with him, leaving a
pile of useless
yellow hair.

Advertisements

26 thoughts on “Doll Hair

    • Thank you. Felt natural, like self preservation, like hiding in the basement during a storm, to have her focus on the unfeeling, unaware doll. She can climb inside the doll, but still feel sorry for her.

      Like

  1. I feel all the words I wanted to use after having read this have already been used. Thank you though, it felt like time no longer passed. Thank you for sharing a beautiful piece!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s