talking doll

she sits cornered room stiff
disjointed form filled
molded body, eyes glassed
hanging hollow response always
staring too steady, her lips parted
as to say
something
at the pull of a string
her words spit
mechanical—out of
step
I wonder—what
intention gave birth to
this starved void—what
hardened breast did she
pull sour milk from—what
rocking hand pushed the
soft born soul in to
the pitch-black corner of
her child-like body

this once gift—this
talking doll sits
alone
in the corner
of the room
so angry
I dare not
touch her

psgates