Her arms were supple and reminded me of
the soft bread dough I pinched as it swelled
in her kitchen. She pressed butter-covered
marshmallows and rice into teddy bear molds I can
still taste, and nothing now compares. Colorful jars
adorned her kitchen countertop, bottled pears
of pink, of green, of blue. She claimed color
made them taste better, but I still despised the grit.
Her trinkets enchanted me. She told me
they forgot to give her ragdolls faces. Her
television glowed from down the hall, as the pretty lady
dropped blood on the snow and named her
baby Snow White. She let me open a special suitcase
to dress antique Barbie, until I left her out once
and she was gone.