Right at the corner of the street
An antique store lights it bulb
I went it
My eyes stuck at the shiny matroyshka doll

The owner stood up
And gave me the doll

The 1st doll look so happy
There is sparkle in its eyes and the smile shines as bright as the star who lights up the darkness of the night

I open the 2nd doll
It smiles without any sparkle on its eyes
It smiles as if it has no soul

I open the 3rd doll
It has no expression
It doesn't look happy or sad either

As my head is spinning around
I look and open the 4th doll
With the sad look on its face
I start to realize that something is off

Then I open the last one
And i feel like I'm watching myself

A broken pieces doll

Deep in my heart
I feel like it is me

I smile as bright as the sun like the first doll
While I'm actually broken inside like the last doll

A storm blew through early, left frost
etched, lit, glistening, on
a window's waking surface.

I sit framed by that translucence,
my daughter aligns, orders
mirroring matroyshka doll members.

I reflect on an essay*, how
poems are a symbol of  will,
concluding a pact, perhaps

achieved in diction, image metaphor,
adherence to structure, rhyme, form.
Might these devolve to decoration? Or,

trace the transmission of "will to
commitments," expressing “intent”,
"weakly lost or strongly spent?”

Frost etchings fissure, shift, glint, slide
on their emergent effluence,
configure in gusts of cognition.  

I sense a covenant in these lines.
my daughter adjusts her doll's placements,
the promise of one revealed in the other.

Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks

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Attribution:
Stanzas 3, 4, and 5 are greatly influenced by my reading the Robert Frost essay titled *THE CONSTANT SYMBOL.
The short phrases in italicized quotes are direct quotes from that essay.