She Had the Face of a Hina Doll

She Had the Face of a Hina Doll

By Laedie Willacaw

Rain bathes the streets, it's patter was the only sound,

My wooden sandals adorn the rain- synchronization as they hit the ground.

As I reached the corner, I heard a woman singing,
Children's songs and lullabies- she had my ears a ringing.
My head turned, and turned, to see,
What vessel could be home to such vocal beauty.
Her back would be first to catch my eye,
For a gilded, purple kimono, is what I would spy.
Long, black hair, and a neck the tone of the moon,
She felt my presence, and soon ceased her tune.
The wind did dance, as her face, she did show,
Two slits for eyes, petite lips, and an illuminating, ghost-like glow.
The lady smiled, and to my knees, I did fall.
I gazed at her porcelain beauty. She had the face of a Hina doll.
My eyes spread wide as I'd be showered with rain,
She'd be as dry as as bone, and soon would sing a-gain.
Folk songs of old- tales of the umi,
Of festival lights and sweet delights- a Geisha's kazanashi.
An upright crescent soon crept across my lips,
And, soon, I, too, would sing beautifully. No stutters, no slips.
We were in-synch. Intertwined, our voices as one,
On my knees, I was pleased. We sang of games, we sang of fun.
Once more, I examined her face, then gazed into her eye,
It's then I'd find what lied behind. An Oni. A Yokai.
I gasped a breath of air, but it came out smoothly,
For I played no mind to danger- I was entranced by her Ningyo beauty.
I'd slice my neck to be given one similar to her's,
I yearned- I burned- to possess her looks. I'd soon fall under a Yokai close.
She'd soon fade into the autumnal rain,
I'd stumble forth, but alas, she vanished. What remained was a ningyo pain.
My sandles would creak all the way home,
Her face she haunted my mind.. I couldn't compare to the beauty that was shown.
I must acquire the ningyo glow,
And so a note, I'd weave, one of grief, one of sorrow.
But also a chance to manifest my desires,
My corpse would be burned to ash amongst a roaring fire.
A mix of ash and porcelain, I'd come back to life,
A Hina doll, poise and free. Free from pain, free from strife.
Forced to roam the rain and moonight, the curse would declair,
I'd be clad in a purple kimono, and long, black hair.
Once you hear my song, head from whence you came,
For if you don't, I shall sing you my fate, as your's shall be the same.
The lady smiled, and on my knees, I did fall.
Her porcelain beauty was impeccable. She had the face of a Hina doll