She knows the world will bend to her.
The perfect angle of her arms
holds a tiny eternity which she gives up.
No upside down household for her.
At her most maternal she wears high heels and a baby.
She neatly folds each pile of cheer.
Perhaps she waxes nostalgic for an open end.
Instead she settles for the soft walls of her diorama.
Her body cannot resist vandalism.
There is nothing on the tip of her tongue.
Her eyes are never glassy,
only the shine on her manufactured finger.
Ken dresses her wound with a ring
to heal the hole in her hand.
At last, to be impaled with romance!
- by Stella Padnos-Shea
- Jewelry by Margaux Lange