I waded out past
small waves repeating

instructions
released the doll

in its straw-hat boat
into a heft

of blueness
Over my shoulder

there were only
low slung caravans

beyond a fallen tree
deep rust lines

of weed
at slight diagonals

on the beach
of dark caramel

I was to wear the hat:
I was to love the doll

But dolls
were dead to me –

cold skin
and mirrors for eyes –

I made sure the end
was gentle

but I was still judged
harshly

Jane Frank

 

Jane Frank lives and writes in Brisbane. Her poems have recently appeared in Stilts Journal, Takahē and the Heroines anthology (Neo Perennial Press 2018) and are forthcoming in Antipodes and Forty Voices Strong (Wisconsin-Whitewater University Press). She teaches in Creative Industries at Griffith University.

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