Day after day
Whittling away
At a small wooden puppet
Faceless.
Naked.
And dumb.
|
Day after day Whittling away At a small wooden puppet Faceless. Naked. And dumb. It sat upon my shelf Sad and ignorant Without a mind To question its’ worth Or feel the days As they passed by. One proud evening I brought some paints To my desk And set out the reds Golds and pale blues And a splash of black. I reached and set My little wooden piece On the smooth surface Of the table. In front of me On the wall Hung a mirror That I unconsciously glanced at As I painted. Slowly the small creature Was dressed In a gray plaid skirt And a tight red sweater That clung to her thin wood body Like a spider To the wall. And as the hours ticked by A face grew like fungus On the bald head That bowed before me. A thin sliver of tight lips A short quick curve To be a nose And two glaring blue dots Under a dark, thoughtful brow So she could see. My work was done And I—the creator— Looked over my disturbing creation Now watching me Out of suspicious sockets. I finished the job With tying the bits of string To the bars of her wooden jail. (Unconsciously I double-knotted Each tight thread) Late that night I lay sleepless in my bed Staring across the room At the small wooden girl Staring back With a knowing smile And a hungry gleam In her glazed-over eyes. I still don’t know What happened that dark night I can only believe My creation put me under a spell Of her own. The next morning I awoke Yet my eyes were already open Staring. The maker Was now the made. And a lost soul Was then trapped Behind the pale eyes And wooden face In a life of theater And performances Day after day. |