Sold to the Peddler
Sold you to a peddler
on our street, and
he took his time -
examined you, and all
our junk…
You were too old, worn
out - cracked ceramic
skull - nails bitten,
fingers missing, dress
torn, and missing shoes…
Needed some cash back
then, and you seemed so
worthless - needless,
useless, stored inside
a cardboard box -left
in the dark.
I begged for you - as
a child – to hold you –
feed you fake milk from
a magical bottle. I
burped you too – small
hands gently patted
your back - tipped you
forward when I wanted
you to cry, and combed
knots from your hair.
You made me cry one
day when you would
not open your left eye.
Mother, she oiled you
with Crisco, and took
time to sew your torn
dress.
Now - I want you back –
but I let you go with
the peddler, in another
cardboard box.
Nancy Duci Denofio
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