The Marriage

In a box, In the corner by the wall lies your cherrished doll

You tend your house,

then your neighbors as well,

leaving your doll in her cell

She awaits the turn of the key

Dust consumes her till she can not see

When your chores are done,

When your respect from others is won,

You remember your cherrished one

You turn the key

Your shocked by what you see

She is ruined

How could this be

© Angela Bredeson

** This poem was written in 1997, two years before I left my first husband**