I found my birth certificate
Next to the box
I have no idea why
They took me out
Of the book
Once they did that
My entire life
Lost all meaning
Or value
I should say value
The box was next to
A couple of my old outfits
I never had a ton of outfits
But they bought me a few
And there was one
That I always liked wearing
I can’t fit into it now
Of course
But when I was a baby
I remember being fond of
This one particular
Gingham number
That was--
I think there are photos
But they would have been lost
When the house burned down
I’ve experienced
A decent amount
Of tragedy in my life
More that most
I would say
For one thing, I was born
In a cabbage patch
And then ripped away
From my mother
Who was a cabbage
And given to my adopted mother
A four-year-old girl
Now that girl is forty-six
And she found me recently
When she was cleaning out
The basement
At her Mom’s house
I was perfectly happy
In the basement
I really enjoy furnaces
And old boxes
That smell funny
And washing machines
Then down the steps
Comes my mother
Telling me she used to
Love playing with me
And acting like
It’s totally fine
That we haven’t spoken in years
After she discovered Barbie
No, not even Barbie
Barbie I could live with
Barbie makes sense
She left me for Skipper
SKIPPER
That’s really
When I let myself go
I went back
To the cabbage patch
For a few years
Got involved with a rutabaga
Came home
And just settled in
To the basement here
And I was happy
With that
I didn’t need
Some kind of fancy dollhouse
Or little jeep
That you can ride around
The yard in
That’s never
What I was looking for
I just wanted
My mother
To follow through
With raising me
I mean, her name
Is on that birth certificate
I know, I know
She went off
And had actual children
But you can’t just toss off
A Cabbage Patch kid
Just because you turn twenty-four
Have twins
And buy a raised ranch
Now she displays me
In this cabinet
Next to her porcelain Japanese dolls
That are very problematic
People come over
She makes them coffee
And they see me
And say--
Oh, I used to have
One of those dolls
And I wonder
Where their dolls are
And whether or not
They’re basking
In the warmth
Of a steady furnace
And the low thrum
Of a washing machine
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