: What Will Become of This Tension :
an excerpt by Catie Rosemurgy
The little girls came like a stain into Miss Peach’s tidy room. She worked to get rid of one, but they were always two. She broke any mirror that could have been responsible, yet still they remained, like statues remain in churches, like eyes remain in heads. Their hands were slippery like something they should throw away. They made one another hungry for things like buttons they didn’t know how to eat. Miss Peach, they said, your watching makes us play all the roles. Eventually the day fell off as inconsequentially as a finger, and they were gone. Only the lifelessness of her dolls stayed with her. She fed on it as long as she could.