She curdles there, droplets of
pinkish fat and
water, wailing upwards.
Her milk-white hair looks
misplaced on her head,
an accidental protrusion,
like an injury to a
straw-
doll.

The other one is very quiet.
If he could walk, he would
pace, would mutter blessings
and amens. They
feel themselves swaddled
by the air,
their breath puffing into the
corners of the
world; screaming that
they are wanted.