Photo by Gilbert Beltran on Unsplash

There’s a little dish on my desk.

Inside it holds a wooden doll...

In the likeness of me.

She’s tilted over to one side.

I don’t fix her.

Because…tonight.

It’s the likeness of me.

Tilted.

Wooden.

Painted on.

This story was published in The Cotton Thread — weaving life with words. If you want to be a writer in our publication, click here.