Peg Doll

Look at me, I’m Peggy
in my laundry day dress.
Every day is Sunday best,
my silk bloomers fashioned
from a stolen hankie.
I’m fancy, fancy not like Nancy
who painted my midnight hair;
my face as clean as sheets
pressed through her mother’s mangle.
You can see I’m a lady from any angle.
My cheeks are apple-red
and my turned-up lips hold Nancy’s secrets.
My necklace is a button from her mistress’s coat,
my bonnet a lost ribbon and my shawl an offcut
of Heathcoat lace
which Nancy snuck into her stockings.
Look at me, I’m Peggy
I’m Nancy’s best friend.
I ride her pocket like a carriage
and when she sleeps
my peg joints curl into her fingers
to warm them.