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El Malvaldo Muñecas
Gently, the wind caresses
They swing
Synthetic hair fluttering
Catching the rays of sunlight.
Eyes stitched shut.
Lips stitched to a slashed smile
Across kntted faces
The locals cross the road
Quick signs of the cross
Away from the dolls
Garroted
Under barbed wires.
Puppet-like
The wing, the puppet-master.
No one knows how
Or why
Or when
But even the bravest of men
Would never stray where  they hang
Swinging merrily
Invitingly…
Touch me…

She died,
Nina, the curious.
A week after she had waited,
Away from Papa’s gaze
To quickly touch a doll
Light; just light on its feet.
Drowned.
A week after,
Her doll, redhead and patchy
Hung beside the others.
Garroted.
A dancing puppet.
Touch me…

Papa wailed as he saw
His gift of love,
Crudely added
To the macabre theatre
El malvaldo Muñecas
They took her.

Poseído!
Muñecas poseído!
Possessed,
Every single one of them
Their stitched-on smile
Never wavering
At the accusing glances of the locals.

It is whispered;
Sí, it is true
That on a certain night
They do not just hang.
On a night when the gateway
Between worlds open;
Día de Muertos.
Their stitched eyes open.

It is whispered,
Sí, it is true
They remember;
The warmth of their owners,
The echoed feel of a body
Pressed softly
Against a child
And then, they move
In search.
Of old owners, long gone.
Of new owners,
soon to be gone.

El malvado muñecas
The evil dolls.

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