Little porcelain doll; raven strands in curled crowns

Tied with thick black rope. White gossamer waves flow

Off your hollow eggshell body, down to black-tipped feet,

Black-knotted bows – spiders cautiously showing a leg.

A deadly bow outlines your lip,

Venus eyes gaze through shadow. A wooden pall

Crushed the light. Now fallen from your marble mantle

You lie here. In this dark, satin gloves are wool, lace trim

The same midnight-nothing as the coarse string

Of the rag doll’s plait. You may as well be nude.

Miscellaneous, PoetryAntonia C