—and then you’ll find you’re dancing to a tune.

*   *   *

While Martin fixed the car (again),

Iris took her new green scissors to my hair

and cut—

oh my!—

and cut—

and cut—

and cut for a long, long time—

until she was done.

EDITOR’S NOTE:

A month later, Pinhead’s skin was removed. Iris, no longer so fond of her, stitched thread across her face and through her mouth and cheeks. Pinhead became a boy and married Baby Bear, who is also a boy. Iris tells me that it is okay for two boys to marry; they just can’t have any children. But Iris is no longer fond of Pinhead, without her-his skin. Pinhead is thrown across the room. I was going to make the head into a proper pincushion— one with a felt-sculpted face— but now I am not so sure. I don’t need another pincushion. I would like to just wrap more wool around it and use it as an inner head for a doll, but I am not certain if that is right. What if someone took their doll apart, to find another doll inside? What if someone found out about the head inside the head?

“Mommy, should I put green pins in her eyes? And yellow in her ears?”

Each pin is placed with definitive precision.

There had been a lot of strawberries in the bowl.

But, for one reason or another,

that didn’t last long.

The drupes (not berries, really,) looked much better in the grass than in the bowl.

And what, with the one child handing them to the other,

and the eating,

and the coveting,

and the other child taking them from the first,

and some sharing,

and— hey!

That’s okay. There’s more.