Читать книгу A Crown for Ted and Sylvia - Kim Bridgford - Страница 11

If Sylvia’s paper dolls were to play with mine,

It would be crazy. Each change in an idea

Would be narrated by rule maker Sylvia.

That would be the only way to break a line.

My dolls were lovely too. I used their tabs

To hold on tight, to turn my back on terror.

(By that I mean, of course, potential error.)

I like to think that Sylvia’s mad libs

Of poems were what I, too, was trying to say.

My paper dolls are not in museums, but lost

To history, burned, or turned to dust.

I remember when Sylvia, still ordinary,

Created who she was through paper scraps.

That’s how we terrorize ourselves. Cuts. Snips.