I have come to think of myself as a set of nesting dolls—
slightly different freckled faces hand painted
onto seven colorful buxom bodies, each smaller
than the last, culminating in a tiny baby wrapped
in blue. It is this doll people assume was made first
and my ever-expanding bodies offer protection—
brightly colored woodendefenses meant to distract
so most men think that’s all there is, the azure treasure
assumed not to exist. But, no. It is the largest me-
shaped doll that came first. My ever-shrinking selves
evidence of distillation. When the worthiest beloved
catches sight of me, his right eye will twitch in anticipation
of opening me over and over, of discovering
the final exquisite blue nugget at my center.
About the Author
Erin Lynn Marsh is the author of the poetry collection Disability Isn’t Sexy (Jules’ Poetry Playhouse Publications, 2019). Her poems have appeared in Post Road Magazine, Sugar House Review, Paper Darts, Emrys Journal, and the anthology Hers: Poets Speak (while we still can), Vol. 2 (Beatlick Press and Jules’ Poetry Playhouse Publications, 2017), edited by Jules Nyquist. She lives and works in Bemidji, MN.