Barbie

Glancing through a catalog,
A chance look at a vintage Barbie
Brought to mind one of the things
I’d prefer to forget.

One Christmas, perhaps age seven,
I received a collection of Barbie clothes
From old friends of my parents.
At the time, I thought only
How hard they were to get on.
Almost impossible.

Playing with a friend, her Barbie had a chic outfit,
Reversible.

We traded.
My collection of unusable clothes
For her one gown.

Pleased, I showed my mother.

“Those women made you those clothes,
Sacrificially and in love.
And you traded them away.”

Thirty years later, the full horror
Rushes on me again.

The childish frustration of receiving
So many sweaters and pants that I could not use.

My own disregard for the kind intentions of near strangers;
How incorrect was my sense of value.

The realization that my friend was predatory.

Disappointing my mother.

From then on, of course, the gown’s beauty was
Poisoned.