One of the first poems I ever wrote was about a doll, I was in Year Six. My English Teacher approved of the poem, and I proudly illustrated the border. I’ve been reading Angela Readman’s collection of poems, Strip, and thought I’d quote an extract from Bodil and the Pigs, Part VI:
All day she clutches the little stuffed pig
she knows used to be pink. One-eyed
shapeless thing that no longer resembles anything
from where it has been over hugged,
defaced by love.
And here’s my poem written from the photo I took at a carboot sale:
Wedges of hands lined,
Their synthetic hair tangled.
Almond eyes covering a third
Of their wide, heart faces.
An individual white dot decorating each pupil,
The plastic, puckering lips.
Tiny heels on the stalks of legs
Without muscle or sag,
Their blank bodies when undressed,
Limbs that rotate 360 degrees.
My sister and I, small, claw
At the mess of doll and hair,
Lovingly stroke their flat tummies,
Peer up their skirts,
Trying to discover the secret.