they_want_my_soul tender_square you’re on the heels of a friend from grade school you haven’t seen in twenty years; you shadow her from room to room, pegboard walls surround the basement space. she holds a pair of pointe shoes the shade of fresh fallen snow. they are flawless. your younger sister arrives and it is only the two of you. she begins a tale about how, when you were kids, she was reprimanded for having done something controversial. she holds a report with spiral binding prepared by the catholic school, she covers the lower portion with her hands until she’s explained herself. in the photograph, she is a child lying in an adult-sized coffin. (or is it a doll you’re seeing?) the picture becomes a hologram changing with your gaze. the child is a ghoul, with scribbles of blue ink creating preorbital puffiness. above her, your older sisters hover menacingly, ghouls with the same faces. “did something happen to us as children?” you ask. your mother is in the photograph as well, a system of terror passing from woman to girl, origin undistinguishable. (a halloween prank gone wrong, or something more sinister? you can’t be certain.) your sister pins you down and shoves her tongue down your esophagus, in the thickness of serpentes, choking you. you shove her shoulders away to breathe. you run away and find your grade school friend and ask to use her land line; your sister needs to be committed, you know this. your sister follows, incensed, she burns in front of you. you press the series of buttons to reach the emergency number but there is no operator on the other end, only hold music, too lively for this moment: “star light, star bright, first star i see tonight.” 220811 what's it to you? who go blather from