“Mannequin Skin” // Kinsey Keys

I. Glass Joints

          My thoughts curl around empty air.
Do mannequins grieve
the hands that dressed them?
Does stillness ache in the seam at the wrist,
the hollow torso, the click of a plastic jaw?
Is shedding each outfit lonelier than never being real?

How long do they hold the shape
of vanished touch,
after the hands are gone?
Do they want to move,
or only to be seen?

II. Double Exposure

My body: a decoy.
Posing on vacation, ring high, smile wide—
the “we’re engaged” photo; easy to believe.

          She takes the same shot:
          same close-up, same bright sunlight.

Set side by side, the camera snap can’t tell
you whose happiness is rented for the week,
and whose bliss is paid for with receipts.

Buried below frame, dirt-packed, silent—
the gopher’s view from under the grass.
I watch his surface joys replay;
see the receipts signed by a stranger’s hand.

We drive the coast,
and the fog forgives my sins.
The Washington moss anchors my feet,
but Daddy’s yarn tugs every heartstring
I refuse to let snap.
What does bliss cost, truly, if it’s always signed for by someone else? 

III. No-Answer Road Song

Dad calls from another life.
I let the phone ring,
let the song play,
let the map lead me somewhere
I don’t have to grieve.

Still, what’s left of my mind
keeps circling that hollow dial tone,
always returning to the mannequin question:

If you never move,
does the world decide your pose for you?
If the photo looks perfect,
does the grief remain off-camera—
or just press in closer, eternally out of frame?

Nothing shifts until you shed that mannequin skin—
let the ache fog up the glass,
let the shine crack and peel,
and risk being seen as you truly are:
the unbeautiful, real girl beneath.

inspo: realizing that not answering isn’t the same as abandonment // noticing how silence can be misread as cruelty when it’s actually restraint // thinking about movement as permission and stillness as refusal // those creepy ass mannequins from the mall and recalling that awful feeling they gave me // mostly, a beautiful trip to Washington State, which briefly took me out of real life just when I needed it

(Here’s your memoir update, for anyone interested.)

Author’s Note (A/N)¹ on “Mannequin Skin,”

This poem came to me in three parts, and there’s a reason for that, even if explaining it is almost harder than just handing you the poem. Consider this a sneak peek: it’s meant to stand on its own, but it’s also one of several poems braided through the memoir I’ve been bleeding onto the page for years now.

I used to only share the “cut” poems here, the ones that didn’t make it into the manuscript, but at some point, that line blurred. Now, even the ones with a pulse in the book sometimes spill out onto the blog first.

I do my best to make every poem self-contained, so even if you know nothing about me, you can step into the ache and follow the thread. Still, it lacks context here; some lines have roots you won’t see until the full story lands.

Here’s what I can explain, for the nosy (I would be):

• This poem anchors a chapter written in the shadow of May 2021. My dad died the next month.
• When I say “I’m nearly done,” I mean it—this is the home stretch.
• Once the memoir is out, you’ll find these poems woven through chapters, sometimes clarifying, sometimes complicating what you thought you knew.

Until then, thank you for reading, lurking, or just silently cheering. Your support is half the reason I keep coming back to the blank page. Stick with me. I’ll keep you posted, and, as always, happy reading.

1. I forgot about using footnotes, but just had to for this aside: am I the only holdout from fanfiction.com still using this “a/n:” abbreviation? (That’s also where I first read the phrase “happy reading,” and immediately adopted it.) LOL! ↩︎

Kinsey Keys

aspiring memoirist rummaging through my noggin, stubbornly clutching the past to my chest like it’s a newborn babe starved for mother's milk.

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