Sold to the Peddler
Sold you to a peddler
on our street, and
he took his time -
examined you and all
our junk…
You were too old, worn
out - cracked ceramic
skull - nails bitten,
fingers missing, dress
torn, and missing shoes…
Needed some cash back
then, and you seemed so
worthless - needless,
useless, stored inside
a cardboard box -left
in the dark.
I begged for you - as
a child – to hold you –
feed you fake milk from
a magical bottle. I
burped you too – small
hands gently patted
your back - tipped you
forward when I wanted
you to cry, and combed
knots from your hair.
You made me cry one
day when you would
not open your left eye. . .
Mother, she oiled you
with Crisco, and took
time to sew your torn
dress.
Now - I want you back –
but I let you go with
the peddler, in another
cardboard box….
Nancy Duci Denofio
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