Dolls seated in a row on display. Neatly dressed, nicely vacant. Pink and white peek through the crispy crunch. She left them there, spongy soft, before she changed her mind and heard the barn door close. The matches struck, sharp, bright. Now Bessie has no dolls to play or mind to change with. The barn. Huge and dark as a child’s delight. To close the door. Imagine.
by Neila Mezynski of Campbell
