Ephemeral as a Moth

a poem in fragments

the dollhouse 

                              creaks
 
spider shivers
          silver web


                             flies are dead



hair in pin-curls
            that little pink dress 
the peter pan collar


stained

          ruined

always ruined 


eyes wide

                          like marbles 

staring

vacant


               like the dollhouse




                         lips stitched

                                 silence sewed

beauty owed




whispers in the mirror-frame

                          splinters in her skin


smell of dead roses and 

                 sliced                                          

anjou pear



she is

           compliant as a dog


                   and


                           ephemeral as a moth 
     

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