When I was old enough to not eat
the furniture, I was given a used
doll house. The half house, sliced
down the middle, all rooms in profile,
not a place to get some privacy,
even the bathroom lay bare. My house
was a shoddy piece with wall decorations
lacquered in and peeling. I remember faded
blue and the flat kitchen appliances.
I lost interest.
The furniture was plastic and limited.
I could not populate the house and toppled
the jute topiaries my father glued to the base.
After our trip to St. Augustine, I finally moved in,
filled the rooms with stones and coquina
that crumbled when we slammed doors.
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