Into the Forest and all the Way Through

by Cynthia Pelayo

what good is checking on your neighbors if you are unwilling to save them?

detectives found no trace of you being inside when the car flew from above if you did not fall, if you did not fly, then where can you be?

The littlest doe, doe-eyed, Jane Doe. I want to paint your nails, red, but not the red that stains your cream-colored knit sweater I want to play dollhouse with you, but not the moldy, brutal mildewed house whose basement you were found. I want to comb your hair, your beautiful hair, I can only imagine it was smooth as a spider web, but only those insects know where your face is now, as that was missing when they found you there

finally confessing that you did kill her, and your apologies smell like the smoke that erupted from her car that night, and why must you ignore our pleas? Please tell us where you placed her?