The Doll - Hilary Tham

Mother said:

“I cannot afford to buy one but I will make you

a doll.”

2 Popsicle sticks

crossed and tied with string.

2 eyes with brows pencilled in.

A quick stroke of another pen

made a scarlet smiling mouth. Then

a dab of glue and cotton wool.

2 scraps of cloth from the sewing

basket, with lace tacked on.

And Doll was fully formed, with

a change of clothes to hand.

Doll lived under my pillow for years.

She did not meet the porcelain doll,

the plastic dolls on our street.

They had real hair, hands with fingers

and toes on their feet.

The Last Dollar – Hilary Tham

Growing up in a dirt lane of shacks,
far from the brick mansions of rich
relatives, I did not feel poor.
After all, our house had a zinc
roof and a real cement floor.
We had a father who worked, a mother
who managed to feed us a little
vegetable with rice
even at month’s end
when neighbors’ children
ate gruel.

The nuns at school asked for help
with the fair to raise money
For The Poor. In a glow of goodwill
I volunteered (it would only cost a dollar)
a gallon of black sea-grass jelly
to make drinks to sell.

Mother cried when I told her.
It was the end of the month
and her last dollar was for food.
She gave me the dollar and we ate gruel
that week, the first time I knew
mothers can cry.