Behind my closet doors, they follow me,
the glassy eyes of all my cuddly toys:
the sun-bleached remnants of my outgrown childhood
are calling to me with a single voice.
"Regina, why did you abandon us?"
At night, I hear my bears and bunnies sigh –
but in the morning, their old shelf is quiet
and, packing up my books, I pass them by.
I used to carry puppies in my pockets.
I used to sleep with cats tucked in my arm.
I close the closet – If I could, I'd lock it.
I don't need teddy bears to keep me warm.
My toys now gather dust, until the day
a child, once more, will take them out to play.