paper

Sometimes
she thinks about the paper dolls she used to play with.
Even then they were old fashioned,
she bought them from bizarre stores full of dust and
necklaces of shells and wooden beads
and painstakingly cut
trench coats and
headscarves and
trendy heels
out of shiny paper
and dressed the dolls.
Once all was cut and dressed, there was always
a moment of loss. What more was there to do?
Redress? Rearrange?
Though she had a wild imagination
the paper dolls never were animated,
merely surrogates,
a shiny colored world of time worn glamour,
paper hearts, paper eyes that do not tear.
Paper smiles that do not fade, paper ears that never
ever have to hear.