No need to compare anymore. Don't pretend
to love my Girl Scout craft day and talk
of matching dishes at bridal showers. I know you,
like me, would rather sit in the corner petting the dog.
I have never wanted this: your limbs attached
to strings, bent like sad stalks,
controlled like a puppet as I first noticed at four
when I swiped my hand over your head
checking for strings, when the expression
of false happiness hung from your cheeks
and I asked, "Where is my real mommy?"
from "The Puppet"