Plastic Hope

Tonight I remembered
the life-like newborn
doll I played with
years ago, now
wrapped up in
swaddling tissue
paper in a cardboard
box lined with memory.
She wore clothes
that matched the
outfit my baby
brother wore - a
hand me down so
I could copy Mom,
folding nappies and
cradling this plastic
infant. Tonight I
wept at childish
dreams that ache
and burn in the
corners of the soul.
The children of the
barren wife might
be more numerous
for their future-promised
sons and daughters
still to bear, but --
for tonight the dreams
and hopes are as
lifeless as that doll.

© Eleanor Clark
21 May, 2015