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Broken Dolls Day

               (June 3, Japan)

The stitched would never

heal. Nor could the smallest finger

missing of a hand be glued to a pudgy

plastic palm. She lies on her back—bye-bye

It is over. Around her those of the lost

screws, stuck eyes, detached

wires, burnt hair, punctured torso;

brother work, dog work, left out

in the rain. Played out. Over the wood,

wax, plastic, porcelain, papier mâché,

straw, leather, resin & cloth,

the four-foot hunchbacked monk

bows his ancient bald head.

O broken ones, we are

the careless world—forgive us

for we wore you as ourselves.

from Burning of the Three FiresFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2010
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

Published in Jeanne Marie Beaumont Poems

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