The Strange Girl Asks Politely To Be Called Princess

When the strange girl skips rope her hair flies like a porpoise. She collects things that melt and things that tick, circles and cubes and checkerboards in a drawer she can pull out from her navel. Other children, alerted by the rumble of marbles in her chest, chase her across the field. She insists she is only hungry, but they pin her down and open her up. Cockroaches rush out and bullies run and squeal, crushing carapaces underfoot. She gathers as many as she can, tells them she’s sorry there is no lock. She’s sorry, but good children shouldn’t have secrets.