Autopsy of a Glass Girl

Staining the floor with her shards and slicing the hands of the coroner the broken doll rests in pieces. Her etched face glances skywards her beaded eyes trapped staring into the sun. “Pushed too far,” the coroner says. Porcelain women weep at the side of the autopsy table. “Bury the fragments,” the coroner says, the coroner says. His words move on but the mourners never will. He moves on to the next case but the mourners never will. He moves on. But the mourners never will.