Today’s post is part of a group writing project at Tweetspeak, in celebration of Marcus Goodyear’s new book, “Barbies at Communion.“

I remember writing poetry
in elementary school
when I played with Barbies
and was jealous of Jeanine
because she was an only child,
instead of the youngest of five,
and she owned a Barbie Townhouse,
store-bought Barbie clothes
and matching Barbie shoes.

When all the refrains rhymed
and Barbie was glamorous.

Now I know the truth.

These days at our house
all Barbies end up naked
and soaking wet.
After bath, the branded princesses
and the generic paupers
are all stored away
in the same wooden wine crate
in the bottom of the bathroom closet.

Too often we’re like Barbie,
dressing our nakedness
with glamorous clothes
and matching shoes
living in our townhouses
pretending
everything’s fine,
all the while,
screaming on the inside
for someone,
anyone,
to see.

Today I’m thankful for
an observant father
who writes poems about such things

and for a Son
who clothed himself
not with glamorous Barbie clothes
and matching shoes,
but with the kind of humility
that led to a cross.

And for a space
that ties it all together.

Because today
I’m writing elementary poetry again,
this time for community
instead of an A+.

Congratulations on the book Marcus!