By: Susa Silvermarie

Her plastic foot

is still broken,

the end wrapped round

in brown tape.

Her mint dress,

dotted swiss

with its square neck

and black ricrac

along the hem,

needs a good scrub.

My old doll waits

on the closet shelf

for me to comb out

her sand-colored braids,

for me to recall

her name.

My old doll sings

soft in the closet:

She’ll come.

Soon, she’ll come.

I’m deeply glad to have recently relocated from Wisconsin to Asheville, to begin living my Third Trimester. Visit me at

Sandi Tomlin-Sutker
Written by Sandi Tomlin-Sutker