Forgotten Darla
I had a doll like a million other dolls,
short-haired in the way of Doris Day,
a silly, alluring machine blonde,
painted in the irises that ideal fifties blue—
the arrogance of the black bead pupils,
that implied beauty always stared into light.
The incongruous cruciform body joint-less and weepy,
as if a face like that couldn't be followed
with the proper body, so they went the other
way and stuffed her with cotton,
so that she was only good for the wilted hug,
or the thoughtless clutch of a girl with one arm free,
the other needing something to hold on to.
I tossed her away at twelve
thinking I'd never see her again, and if I did,
I'd laugh carelessly.
But I was thinking like a half-grown up then,
Because here she is in my arms,
And I have regrets.
Darla's eyes sparkle with tears,
her heart-shaped mouth tries not to pout,
a grimace pulls at the cheeks,
and her brow is furrowed.
"I am sorry," I tell her, and she touches my face,
but it's what I never was that's gone,
and the poor doll gets it wrong again.
— Maria Mazzenga
VoxPoetica encourages Takoma Park and Silver Spring residents to submit their work. E-mail your poems to poet@takoma.com, or mail them to the Takoma Voice / Silver Spring Voice, 6935 Laurel Ave., suite 207, Takoma Park, MD 20912. The editor of VoxPoetica is Don Berger, Poet Laureate of Takoma Park.
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