Paper Dolls

Weekly Poem | In this blue hour, I imagine

Paper Dolls

After school. Evening, almost. A grainy television flashing

in the background. Cross-legged on the kitchen tiles, I cut

out string after string of paper dolls. I like this mind-quiet;

cleaving shapes out of blank paper, the sameness of the dolls, 

how they come into the world: faceless, nameless, but always 

together. Slowly, I hold each string up to the fluorescent light.

In this blue hour, I imagine that I too am something like this.  

I have always felt like many things unravelling from one thing. 

I have always been holding my own hand.