*

*

I wanted a Barbie doll.

I was twelve years old.

My mother commuted to a full-time job.

My father restlessly rested at home

from a heart attack

I must have told them

that I wanted a Barbie.

*

I was in sixth grade in a new school,

after spending a year abroad,

on the road with my parents.

Did I tell them the kids thought

I didn’t speak English?

Did I tell them my clothes and hair and glasses

were all wrong?

I said I wanted a Barbie.

*

My father said,

You’re too old to play with dolls.

He was right—sort of.

I was that horrible in-between age

when the dolls and fantasy games

didn’t satisfy anymore,

but nothing had come along to fill the gap

–except books.

*

You’re too old to play with dolls.

I went to my room and cried

for my old self that used to be.

And he felt sorry, and went out

and chose a Barbie for me

with a platinum bouffant hairdo

and a slinky shocking pink cocktail dress

*

I said “thank you” as I should

and never

played with it.