I have been made a doll—
Needle sinks into gum, and cheek and chin turn to rubber.
I cannot stop touching my face. I want to know how it feels—
all of it, my skin under your touch, my touch on your skin.
For a moment, can I be both of us? But the caress is lost
on a subject too solid to be loved.
In my palm my tooth feels smooth and hard,
like the inside of a geode. There is a hole in the horizon,
a window looking into a dark wet place. The rest of me
is full of stuffing, a cloud with a human skin.
It’s not that I feel something missing. Instead
something does not belong, like a word misplaced,
hidden, the sock that goes missing when you’re
down to your last pair.