The Hungry Artist

I knew strawberry Shortcake before the taste.
The overwhelming smell of strawberries
that sticks till today.
Oversized bonnet.
Striped socks.
The Peculiar Purple Pieman of Porcupine Peak –
Yah-tah-tah-tah, tah-tah-tah-tah-Cha!
Choose one or the other – can’t have both!
Purple had been my favorite color.
Then red.
But little girls can’t have man dolls.
And Strawberry Shortcake is pretty.
And small. So I could stand her on
my hand and next to my cheek.
And sniff her strawberry hair.
Kiss her cheek beneath the sheet.

Strawberry Shortcake sits in a shut
wooden box, without light,
with her faded scent
and the encased photo of my mother
before she was dead.
And each of my prized figurines.