Blaming Barbie

by Colleen Carias
Her name was Lucy.
She looked delirious most of the time
one doll eyeball turned winking upside down
cupid lips and curried dimpled cheeks
orange hair a tangle with thoughts of
get me out of here.
The Sunday we scrambled from the fire
to cook the egg gone bad
in the baby blue and daisy pan
I killed her. Knee across her neck
decapitated her. Grown up voices spilled
down the stairs. Ken watched
her redhead rolled glass eye sinking
I tumbled out the rabbit door.
I ran. She was separated from her ‘ma ma’ box
so her head never cried.
I ran left her there in pieces. That was the first time.

Colleen Carias lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She creates films as another way of interpreting her poetry.


© 2011, Colleen Carias