Nightmare of a Beautiful Dream

I dreamt my mother mourned a broken doll, porcelain, sad brown eyes, and five feet tall. Entombed it in the finest place she could, a cottage encircled by sunlit wood. She danced a silent waltz with it, keening, encouraging life in the wretched thing. And it mended as she was worn away. She did not hear when warned of her decay. I was left a pristine porcelain doll, and a broken mother in its enthrall.