A Transformation of Pears

Lizards unzipped their skins, left them on thorn hangers--
So I dressed my Barbies like dragons, remembering cigarettes
In hotel rooms, once upon a time.

I forget them. I've told you I forgot them. There, in the attic
Were once my parents thought they saw smoke,
With the squirrels and dust.

Smoke comes from only candles and incense, my dear.
Sometimes from the kitchen but never from the throat,
Never from plastic or rage.

Someone brings me pears; they think them safer than apples
While the ivy branch drinks quietly from the bottle
It whispers secrets to them.

I'm waiting until they grow legs, clad in old-fashioned
Curled-toe tights from medieval romance or cartoons.
So far, they only squirm.

But you've brought your own dolls. Odd. And your books.
Open them quick before the ivy grows bored. It, too, shares
Those dragons' fire and writhe.

Hope everyone is having a productive & pleasant week--that you are many degrees above zero, the sky is clear, and there is a good pair of walking shoes and a soft, dry path from your porch to the Road and a good walk and a good adventure just a few steps away. Sharing this with The Sunday Muse (the picture is courtesy of this week's prompt) and with Poets United.

-- chrissa