Utopia’s Demise

Utopia’s Demise

 

Oh, Pamela, I’ve not forgotten how

we dressed our dolls, the bonnets knitted, each

one tied with ribbons fixed, the plastic brow

that framed their sleepy lids, the way we’d preach

 

to them pretending they’d done wicked things,

your room a home of stars and storybooks,

red licorice from Thrifty’s, pocket rings

you’d hung from sconces lit, your crochet hook

 

for sewing blankets in your trundle drawers

with feathered down, old roller skates long worn

beneath a closetful of pinafores,

your hair pinned up with tendrils barely clipped

 

behind your ears, and how we’d brush each other’s

ringlets till our curls held the sunlight’s reign,

the eager way we waited for our mother’s

yes, consent to board the weekend train,

 

and how we’d one day vanish, no goodbyes—

we might have known to never close our eyes.