by Julia Rios

Unbind the hands that clasp her breast
and loose the faded cameo
from her matchstick fingers

Return it to her people.

Arrange her bones in sweet repose
--don't fixate on the grinning skull.
You've pulled her up and saved her,
in so far as salvation goes.

Who was it killed her?
Some factory boy
long buried now no doubt,
so tell her to rest.

He's forgotten,
She isn't
That should be enough.

But wear ferns in your hair
when you bathe

Just in case.

Julia Rios has always been fascinated with myth, particularly as it pertains to ghosts. She writes science fiction and fantasy, and her work has appeared in Reflection's Edge and Space Westerns. She favors eating the avocado for its smooth decadence, but for drinking, black currant juice is best.

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