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Sunday, May 22, 2011

nesting dolls

by Hannah

The day big sister ran
into the white hall
she was waggling one
oversized sock in the air
we all came rushing
to see the fishhook
staring sheepishly out
of a lumpy woolen
mouth defeated
a sharp little anchor pulled
from its shag resting place.

What a catch! Dad said.
Great-grandma must have
missed it with that wheezing,
green antique she called
 a vacuum, Mom said.
Blah blah blah (baby talk)
said little Brother on her hip.

Their voices bounced off
my back as I high tailed it
to search for bottom dweller
heirlooms in my own aged room
newly aware of my place
as the tiniest wooden woman
buried deep in the belly
of mother after mother.

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