Houses fall on little girls all the time,
Girls with real curls,
holding dirty fingers from the bruised ladders between their thighs.
Peter built this house,
welded the doors shut, sparks crackling against his mask
but my mother
opened the windows
and birds flew in.
Stiff feathers, ink and oil,
hid in the rafters.
Until the wind shifted and creaked
and we were buried, twirled, stacked and seeded.
The leaded carpet halls,
patterned with decomp and blue veins
were swept unhinged, unwalled and unearthed.
We used our nails, pried from sheetrock,
to shred the saviors.
Houses fall from little girls all the time,
making them witches
with tight thighs and red lips
curled into not your business smiles.
Julie Foster, writing under the name of JF Speed, has been published in both digital and print short fiction anthologies. She is an artist who believes in social and environmental justice, living in the South Puget Sound. She makes her own paints from minerals and bees wax and has attended CWU, majoring in fine arts.