DOLL FACE [Sarah Ringoen] Porcelain faces shatter with fake smiles that bend, contort. The serene egg shell is poreless, painless, crushable. Fragility displays itself proudly in the moonlight. These smooth things that catch light and hold it, polish it, soften it for those around. They lay down buttered heads; the half of it, the half truth festers into lies. They whisper nothing but honey. Their mouths drip at the corners with rotten teeth and a smooth shell. You can never know a round thing. I envy those sharp things, those without dishonesty and not smoothing the light but instead reflecting it, never fearing the truth but taking the whole of it. A sharp thing knows its power. Razor edges cut boldly just as the mirror presents its image without fearing offense. To be a sharp thing is powerful and poignant. Pungent aroma. Punch to the gut. To be a round thing is never to be seen, never to be known. 55 PLAINS paradox