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Posts Tagged ‘Doll’

One year, when I was young, we were quarantined.  I just knew that Santa could not come because there was a big sign in front of our house warning him, and everyone else, away.  So, when dad carried me downstairs and I saw what Santa had brought, I could not believe my eyes. This is a true story from my childhood. 

 

I want to thank you all for the joy you have brought me this year; reading and commenting on my poems. 

 

A very Happy Holiday to each and everyone and a Merry Christmas too.

MAMA’S SACRIFICE

So long ago, on Christmas Eve,

In deep Depression years,

I thought that Santa wouldn’t come,

Yet, I choked back my tears,

 

I’d chosen from Sears catalog

A doll with real curls,

And longed for her with all my heart –

A trait of little girls.

 

I dreamed my dreams, as children do,

And hung to hope’s thin thread.

I prayed that doll would soon be mine,

Then snuggled down in bed.

 

Awaking early Christmas day,

I hurried down the stairs,

And there beneath the Christmas tree

Was the doll of my prayers.

 

Dressed in yellow organdy,

Trimmed with ribbons and bows,

Stood a doll with real hair

Adorned with satin rose.

 

This lovely doll of years gone by

Had secrets Mama knew.

I learned them later in my youth,

I swear to you, it’s true.

 

Mama had taken an old doll

With chipped and painted hair,

Then repainted mouth, cheeks, and ears,

And spots where it was bare.

 

The darling buttoned oilcloth shoes

That my doll would wear,

Were cut from our big tablecloth,

Each stitch sewn in with care.

 

She then cut up her best dance gown

To make a ruffled dress,

And what she did about the hair,

I’m sure you’d never guess.

 

Mama cut off her own chignon,

Which really was quite big,

And fashioned long banana curls,

To make my doll a wig.

 

This gift my Mother made for me

Was matchless as to price,

But what was priceless, had I known,

Was Mama’s sacrifice.

                                                               

7/7/88     –   Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

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      HER INTENDED ROLE

 

My doll was made from scraps of wood

Dad carved in fine detail.

Her head was polished to a sheen,

And swiveled on a nail.

 

Her limbs were carved from sassafras,

Then  loosely wired in place.

Her hair was made from yellow yarn.

Mom’s art work made her face.

 

Her clothes were made from muslin scraps.

The belt, a ribbon braid.

Her shoes were made from slippers

Of softest doeskin suede.

 

She even had a nice wardrobe

Mom made with greatest care,

Including coat, and matching hat,

To top her yellow hair.

 

Hours were spent in make-believe,

Just the doll and myself,

And now this memory from my past,

Sits high upon the shelf.

 

She may have been just polished wood,

Without a heart or soul,

But I felt warmth when cuddling her . . .

‘Twas her intended role.

 

12/13/91     Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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