last thanksgiving granny gave me her dollies
we carefully lifted them from their wrappings
smoothed their skirts, their faces
said their names
there was loretta, the stunner from uncle paul
and powder puff the stuffed baby
whose faded features were nearly indistinguishable
and a host of others with labels neatly pinned to their chests
the year before that, she gave me
great-grandma gladys’ engagement lavaliere
which passed to me as the eldest daughter
of the eldest son
it waits in a drawer for my wedding day
and, if that comes, then perhaps
it may pass to a laughing-eyed girl
of my own
and one day we will take
granny’s dollies out of their box
smooth their skirts, their hair, their faces
and whisper their names once more
