Paper Dolls

Criss-cross, criss cross –
the scissor-blades go zig-zag.

Heads and joined arms,
joined toes and hem of skirts –
the paper unravels into
two-dimensional dolls
in multiples of ten.

I toss one more of it to the trash bin
spilling out hundreds of this obsession.

They were my army,
with no eyes, ears or mouth,
or even a nostril, let alone a nose.
And they knew nothing about
living or surviving,
let alone fighting.

I do not take offense
on their behalf,
upon their inanimity –
we are just one of them, you and me.


In love,
our hearts flutter
like paper dolls decorating
our childhood room.

In pain,
we crumple crisply,
the papery rustle filling
our emptiness.

Their wholeness is only
a part of us.


I separate the held hands,
unhook their toes,
singling them,
breaking the chain of monotony
and consistency.

Disorder is innate,
a few paper dolls shall not
rewrite it.

– April 21st, 2016
© Sana Rose 2016

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