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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

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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