Nesting Doll

In
her
mother’s
lap the little
girl sat and in
her little hands she
hugged a nesting doll.

I stepped back from the painting
that was called the ‘Nesting Doll’
so that my eyes could contain it all;
so that my heart could.

I wanted to remember it
and myself standing before it,
at the exhibition within the gallery,
so that, later, I could write this poem.

But now, as I write it, I realize
that I am just a smaller nesting
doll within these words
and it is you, the
reader, who are
holding
me.