Broken Porcelain

He picked her up like porcelain
A doll cradled in his arms
Fine, delicate features
With soft, tiny palms
That could not grasp the world around her
As she squinted at it through glassy blue
Taking her back to China
Taking her a
Part to Timbuk-two

In places she was oblivious
To a foreign state of mind
Where they stripped her off her petticoats
Unlaced the frills of her kind
Where she was left frozen
Floored by mask-uline
Her paper mache ripped and rosen
Oh Poor broken, Porcelain