On a shelf in a New Mexico souvenir shop sat a myriad of wooden dolls. The Katsina's dolls caught my eye. It felt disrespectful to take a picture without buying, so I made up a story instead.
You stare at me
From the shelf
Oval ball eyes
Your robot head
Your bull horn
The butterfly princess placed next to you.
The one holding the broom
Who could away
The orange at the top of her wings drips down like
Yet her wings do not disentigrate
She has swept the dirt floor so clean , so clean
she never even flaps her wings.
Why would she?
Her eyes are cast
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