a methodical song, hummed quietly into thebalsa walls of each miniature. nimble fingerscoax miniscule scenes into place: there, herdoor shut tight and sealed with newsprint, allegress cut off to hasten the rouging of her cheeksfrom the fumes. or the girl in the closet, neckgrooved in red, no puddle of blood beneath her. oheiress, you rule over these silent crimes, eachimage made to train the ruthless to reimaginejustice, to establish order for working womenkilled at home or church.lessons in methodology, how to pluck each detailedmonument to her private suffering from itsnoxious and stifling stem. yet you are nooracle, though you saw beyond your wealth,privy to the protections afforded by money,quelling those afforded by whiteness.race, a liminal boundary, paint melting intosolvent, unseen. each doll’s porcelain skintinted to mimic the conditions of death. yourutmost attention, almost affectionate, to thevividly lurid: a girl’s clothes rumpled, legs splayed,whisps of hair in a pool of blood on the floor. anx-ray into the ends of poor white women:yes, an obsession, like floral wallpaper or the petals ofzinnias. a prayer uttered under your breath.