Inanimate

Child, doll

Inanimate

Like the doll I used to love.
I poured my secrets into her uncaring ears
and loved her with an affection
incomprehensible to me now.
She was inanimate, but a child needs something to love,
something unjudging, never angry, always there.
Even if it’s just a friend she made up.

My children were the same,
one had a bunny,
one a duck,
one a lion,
each of them loved into oblivion
like the Velveteen Rabbit.
They carried their friend with them
wherever they went, playing games
that seemed quite real.
But children need something to love,
something unjudging, never angry, always there.
Even if it’s just a friend they made up.

At the end of our,
should I call it, marriage?
At the end I could see I’d been loving
an inanimate object, an imaginary friend,
all along.

The whispered secrets fell on deaf
(uncaring?) ears.
The love and affection lavished
for what seemed good reason
at the time.
The games we played were unreal.
But a woman needs someone to love,
someone unjudging, never angry, always there.
Even if it’s just someone she made up.

The_Velveteen_Rabbit_pg_25

Written for Poetic Asides November poem-a-day challenge, prompt, inanimate. 

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