Work Text:
Cold, hard, plastic,
a comforting paradox.
As they sit in your arms,
warming the soul.
It becomes
a secret joy,
in a lonely heart.
Cradled, they watch,
painted eyes gazing.
Into the soul, they see,
they learn,
they heal.
A child with a toy,
daughter with her doll,
son always with his figure,
of a broken worshipped
hero.
They all come with tales,
we make them,
we learn them,
we are them.
Some of them
live their lives,
on shelves.
Others, lost in
sand boxes,
toy boxes,
or preserved in
packaging.
They’re kept,
fixed,
replaced,
because many times
will the heart,
need to mend itself.
A child within oneself
seeking the familiar comfort
from a cold, hard, plastic form.
They change;
fragile, porcelain skin,
ceramic, plastic, cloth;
cloth clothes,
or painted plastic;
glass, or painted eyes;
long flowing hair,
or plastic once again.
In the end, you choose,
between hard plastic,
untouchable fragility,
or human like comfort.
They come
with many names,
brands,
types;
porcelain,
china,
play arts,
figurine,
doll.
Still it’s all the
same,
in the end.
They will find a home
with us.
Taken from confinement
into welcoming arms.
Children seeking toys,
like stuffed animals,
or dolls,
that’ll listen to recent troubles.
School, home, mischief,
if it can’t run
it will listen.
Christmas,
Birthdays,
Easter,
we all have
so many opportunities,
to give a friend.
A gift received,
may it be familiar, fragile,
or cold,
is a cherished comfort
for a lonely heart untold.