GUATEMALAN WORRY DOLLS

          Worry, a cousin to fear, but quieter --
The guest you don't notice, almost family, the way
he makes himself at home. He finds ripped hems
with threads to pull. He smells of something damp
once held close to skin. He likes lights off, tight
jaws, hunger and the front page news. He wakes you
          up at 3 a.m. -- no distractions.

          Quick, find those Worry Dolls
That someone gave you, rattling in their yellow box.
Note: the men's tight pants, wound from thick, bright thread
On inch high sticks; split below the chest to make two legs.
Admire the women's frayed skirts, like postage
Stamps, wrapped about their waists. Whisper
Into every ear (let them hold each worry),
          So you can rest. They startle

        In the morning with pin prink
Eyes, mouths like dots and dashes; hair dipped
In dry, black glue. They watch you dress. Each doll
no longer an acquaintance. Thank them as you place
them back into their oval box with fitted lid, the special
          one, that worries sleep within.