The Puppeteer
A puppet with detached strings
Lays more broken than it appears.
The once carefully painted face
Chipped away. Lined eyes and painted
Lips smeared. Satin and lace torn,
Picked a part as if it were tested
As some sort of invincible nylons
To be worn with petticoats.
Curls disarray.
Broken at the knees
And one shoe missing;
It’s not hard to see the doll
Is in shambles.
Cracked at the chest
Where the heart should be
—It’s been placed on a shelf
in a jar.
The jar itself is cracked,
With juices seething from the inside
Out like a benign cancer
Screaming that love is all
It ever wanted,
But still the only thing it’s incapable of.
The Puppeteer pretends the pieces
Are still together. But it is obvious
Standing upright is impossible.
No longer tied to this stage,
the play goes on.
You’re not my puppeteer.
(2013)
