Poem: Dollhouse

Dollhouse

Sequestered indoors,

I become

            acutely aware of my size,

and its changeable nature.

I swell and shrink, like a painted “magic” washcloth

with

            and without the moisture of those around me.

This is a doll’s house,

the details of life

pixilated and blurred

constructed on a scale

larger than my own.

The walls are far away,

their curvilinear structures

staying, always, at a distance

            even

                        as I move closer,

they repel my magnetic edge.

I am made of paper

            of the thickest kind,

my appearance changed by folding the tabs

over my corners.

My movement sounds

like tack board on the wind

            wobbly and angular,

I go through the motions.

Dwarfed by my material constants

            in this tilt shift perception. 

Image by CountLazarus