#13 from Keeper of the Dolls

these dolls keep

themselves in glass jars and plastic containers kept airtight with heavy ceramic lids. [we will not spoil, the dolls say.] the dolls collect moisture in their palms. they wait for the fluid to sink into their hands. the dolls mold. yellow mold. green mold. the brown mold things. the mold stinks of meat. the dolls smell by association. they scour the meat off their palms and wipe the mold on the walls. [we are not dolls anymore, the dolls

say.] the dolls are liars. the dolls loosen their jaws and fit underwear inside. the dolls scale the mold things. they smear the tendrils across their mouths. [you are broken, mildew gods, the dolls say.] the mold grows in doll shapes. the red mold forms hands. the blue mold compacts into several small torso shapes. the mold builds replicas of the dolls. the tendrils wave. they brush against the dolls' cheeks. [you algae growths should not get close to the bleach, the dolls say.] the dolls spit chlorine over the mold. far away, the mold births one doll, then another. the dolls climb up the moldy walls and twitch with the mold holes. [do you think we should forget the pieces of mold we have in our muscles, the dolls ask.] they knock the chlorine over and commit patricide. the father molds sink into the chlorine and come apart. the feathery particles scatter across the surface. the dolls snicker. they rake butter knives over the matriarch mold. they break the mold into little pieces, then cut it up with dehydrated chlorine fragments. the mold burns. the mold breaks into dust. [you are done, the dolls say and sniff the parental mold up their porcelain nostrils.] the dolls fit their bodies into the nearest closet and close the doors. [the keeper says to be quiet, the dolls say. but the keeper does not know what we do when we are on our own.] the dolls eat wire hangers. the dolls bash their foreheads against the walls. the dolls devour their hands. [the keeper says to keep our bowels in check, the dolls say.] they lift their plaid skirts up and bend at the hips. [are our asses full of elixir, the dolls ask, tensing the rubber.] the dolls spit on the floor. [no, no, the keeper says not to do that, the dolls say.] they mop the saliva up with their underwear. the dolls squeeze the sopping rags and stare up at the humming lamp. [can the keeper answer this? we have no bodily production. no juices. no bile. how do we make saliva? does it burst out spontaneously? or is it just an after product of the heated rubber? a sort of solvent derived of chemicals that were one liquid at a high temperature, the dolls say.] they swallow the dirty fabric and their tongues slap around their mouths. [the keeper says to keep the fake muscles to ourselves. but the keeper does not realize that our tongues are a terrible burden to our jaws. it bites our faces off. it cleans the foam brains out of our plastic molded skulls, the dolls say.] the dolls spread their chubby legs and urinate. deep blue puddles spread across the closet floor. [the cannibalistic men are in the corner, the dolls shriek.] they tread water. they kick their legs against the walls. the dolls squeal like pigs. [the men are there. with the teeth. the keeper stands before them. she flashes her breasts, then eats their buttocks, the dolls say.] their heads sink to the bottom. their feet bob to the top.

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