Favorite Doll

I wouldn’t let Mama
return her. “I love you just
the way you are,” I whisper

to Amanda. Tucked into bed
beside me, covers up to her chin,
you can’t tell her feet and hands

point backwards. She can do
pushups in her sleep. At tea
parties, she sits looking like

a werewolf in a gauzy dress.
Sometimes I brush my hair
over my face to look like her.

“You’re an odd child,” says
Mama. Amanda takes
after me.

© Tennille, published in Southern Women’s Review