The Doll

I had a doll

She was called “Smartypants”

And that was also what my dad called me
(Or maybe he said “Smart ass”)
I loved her as much as a child can love a toy
One day I was playing
With the little girl who lived upstairs
Her English was not that good
But we played with our dolls
The common bond for young girls
Language need not apply

  
Her mom made her dolls
Very cute clothes
She had a lot
all sitting on shelves
I was in awe
As my little Smarty Pants
Was dirty and had unkempt hair
(Not unlike me)
I asked if her mom
Could make some clothes for my doll
She said “yes”
And I left her there
A few days later,
maybe weeks,
Not really sure
I wanted my doll back
I went upstairs
I saw her on the shelf
In beautiful clothes
Combed hair in braids
I asked for her
reaching
But was told “no”
With the shaking of heads
Lost in translation
I never recovered my doll
She faded in the past like an old memory
I just let her go

But the feeling of loss remains

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