Jenn Marie Nunes I STILL SHOVE THINGS IN MY MOUTH FOR IDENTIFICATION The ocean receded. I watch the dolls propped up in the bedroom staring. The ceiling slants down like a closing hand. Hard porcelain faces and soft cloth bodies all waiting. There is some like metaphor but I fail to see it. Josh is standing behind me in the doorway. Their frills their curls their bonnets. That stare. There’s a tiny door in the bedroom. Go ahead he says. I dare you, go in. The one about the murder suicide, splinters under her nails. If you lock me in I’ll kill you. Or the time she like fell on the point of a cast iron fence. The time I cried and he put his hand down my pants. No wonder our house is haunted. I watch my finger touch her plastic eyelids. One. Two. What is a crush. Everyone thinks we’re lovers anyway. He shushes me. Anything is a toy if you like play with it.