After Christmas

She was the dollmaker,

the seamstress of small clothing
and curled hair,
kempt.

I always hoped
and prayed
for one of her dolls
every Christmas.

One year
I was given a porcelain doll
in a brown prairie-flower dress
with brown, mousy hair.

My sister’s doll
had blond hair like mine
and wore blue,
my favorite color.

I thought our gifts were confused
if they were supposed to look like us.
I had hers.

My grandmother told me no.
She just thought
I would be able to handle the brown
better than my little sister would.

For the rest of that week
after Christmas
I tried to trade my sister my doll,
the one that clearly
should have belonged with her.

When a child thinks
they have something you want,
it becomes valuable.

Jasmine on the Grave