The Doll's House

 
The miniature teacup wobbles,
But won't stain the carpet. 
We trip and fall outside,
But not in the doll's house.
Here the perfume bottle -
That scent of a broken heart
Creates a glass dressing table
For the daydreaming doll
And the disordered, thorny garden of tears
Provides thimble rose baths
For the tiny ones.
Placing matchbox beds in order,
We tap the tiny heads of
Ourselves, 
Knowing they are safe. 
For a moment, we know a petal blanket
In a world
That can be fixed with superglue. 

LJ Ireton