For Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald

 Out of The Remains
of My Mother’s Attic
Out of The Remains
of My Last Half-a-Century
I have salvaged
The Fullness of My Feminine Form
My Ballerina Doll
bought for Me by My Grandmother
after I begged & begged
for a tubby mechanical blond
I watched over & over
in a television Christmas ad
twirling madly in a Little Girl’s Fantasy

 My Grandmother from Alabama took Me
into New York City
to pick any doll I wanted
when there stood only one Ballerina
on the shelves & shelves —
I took Her —
staring distant and blue eyed
with red haired curls elaborately styled
She was the most beautiful Doll
I had ever Touched
She was My Ornament Extraordinaire
never to be played with
never to be named

 She is still dressed like a Degas Ballerina
with Black Ribbon Around Her Neck
sparkles on Her Tutu
She stands stiff and tall
on My Painted Doll Dresser
Not To Be Played With
still nameless
She Is My Real Doll

                                 Joanna Hyde
                                 November 19th 2011  The Hawk


  1. Jackie Blair McSween

    This poem speaks strongly about self acceptance. We are “Not To Be Played With”. This has been a very important lesson for me and it has only taken me 49 years to learn it. How challenging it is, in our world, to maintain this.
    Thank you for this poem Joanna.

  2. kzoodedoo

    wow, I never was a “doll” person, as I was preoccupied as a young girl playing with a hammer, some nails, and a vice…making an endless chain in the basement.
    But now, because of your poem, I think I finally get it. Thanks!

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