Her name is Amelia and she hangs upon my wall
trapped in a frame
from a five and ten cent store.
Her eyes are flat and cold
her cheeks are pale and slack
Her jaw is wired shut
there are metal hands upon her back.
The bow on top her head
has been tied with love and care
and someone long ago
curled her long brown hair.
Her dress was to big and her shoes didn’t fit
and every time
she saw them hanging in her closet
she closed her eyes and said;
” Ma, I’m just dying to wear this dress. ”
Before winter hit, she did.