She was blonde and had big violet eyes
I asked my questions into. You could push a button
at her waist, pull her long ponytail from the top of her head
and change her hair length. Maybe it was this control I felt
yanking on her hair, changing the way she looked
anytime I wanted, about the endless power, or the long
bouts of snow out the window in the dead of winter
in upstate New York. Or the way
her tall, doll box still stood
in the corner, there anytime
I wanted to re-bury her.