your dolls had already
become strangers to your hands
slipping without complaint
into the lost corners of childhood.
and I recalled suddenly
your blue dress catching the sun
as you skipped and sang in a gaggle
of small girls in the playground.
Soon you will skip out of this street,
the blue guitar on your back,
humming your own melody,
looking for your new address.
I will turn and catch the dolls staring.
Published in The Blue Guitar (Salmon Poetry 2009) and The Rialto (2007)