Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
In the attic of my grandmother's house, beneath a linen sheet,
Sat a porcelain doll with painted lips and tiny buttoned feet.
Her eyes were glass like puddles, and her curls were spun of gold,
And my grandmother had warned me that she never must be told.
Told of what? I asked her, and my grandmother turned pale,
She said, that doll remembers all, and she has a hungry tale.
That night I crept up to the attic with a candle in my hand,
And I lifted off the sheet and saw the doll upon her stand.
Her eyes were open, staring, and then, before my light, she blinked,
She blinked, and I stood frozen, for her painted lips had curved.
I ran and never told a soul, but I know she waits up there,
And I hear her tiny footsteps on the attic's creaking stair.
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Commentary
Dolls are children’s comforts, and that is why a doll that moves is so unsettling. In this poem, the family’s attic keeps a doll that remembers everything.
In the grandmother’s attic, “beneath a linen sheet,” sits “a porcelain doll with painted lips and tiny buttoned feet.” The grandmother warns that “she never must be told,” and then says, “that doll remembers all, and she has a hungry tale.” The speaker creeps upstairs with “a candle in my hand” and lifts the sheet.
The doll’s eyes are open, and “she blinked,” and “her painted lips had curved.” The speaker runs and never tells a soul, but hears “her tiny footsteps on the attic’s creaking stair.”