China Doll White

I hang white sheets,
never crisp
somehow wrinkled
like my crow’s feet,
forehead,
around my lips,
crinkle on my nose,
below my eyes,
no matter

how I try to iron,
cleanse, tone, moisturise,
the folds come back.

White swaddles, burp cloths,
become beige,
sand,
hessian,
almond.
Almond eyes.
Get the colour
out.
I tie the burp cloths together,
plan my escape.

Dried in direct sunlight,
natural,
China doll sheets billowing in the breeze.

Does my outfit look wholesome enough?
Are my whites white
and brights bright
enough?

Laundry dried, folded, inside
drawers
to be unpacked
tomorrow

and tomorrow,
and t *

Spit up on my thoughts.

I take the sour burp cloths,
Vomit, milk, my own food,
a mosaic of filth
and watch it spin around
and around
and around.

A carousel in a fun house,
the earth in its orbit,
cleanse, tone
and moisturise,
whitening cream.

*(Shakespeare’s Macbeth)