Raggedy Heaven

Where oh where do all those little naked raggedies end up?

Poor things, little embroidered hearts

exposed for all the world to see.

I like to picture them in a better place

(rather than in the bottom of some long-forgotten toy box,

squished under so much Barbie paraphernalia);

a place where frayed yarn hair is the height of fashion,

and contoured waistlines are considered icky;

a place where every Annie has an Andy

(or another Annie, whatever);

a place where striped stockings hang

on clotheslines in the sun,

and aprons are entirely optional.