Bringing the Dolls
by Merlie M. Alunan
Two dolls in rags and tatters,
one missing an arm and a leg,
the other blind in one eye— I grabbed them from her arms,
“No,” I said, “they cannot come.”
Each tight luggage
I had packed
only for the barest need:
no room for sentiment or memory
to clutter loose ends
my stern resolve. I reasoned,
even a child must learn
she can’t take
what must be left behind.
And so the boat turned seaward,
a smart wind blowing dry
the stealthy tears I could not wipe.
Then I saw—rags, tatters and all—
there among the neat trim packs,
the dolls I ruled to leave behind.
Her silence should have warned me
she knew her burdens
as I knew mine:
her clean white years unlived -
and mine paid.
She battened on a truth
she knew I too must own:
When what’s at stake
is loyalty or love,
hers are the true rights.
Her own faiths she must keep, not I
