She is a nesting doll. She gluts herself upon all the many iterations of the girl, takes them into herself through her open mouth and down her gullet to bury them in her belly. So many girl-selves — the girl with the ladybird hairclip, girl who knew how to smile, the lamb-girl, the hung, drawn and slaughtered girl, girl who didn’t last the third night of her life, the beloved girl-daughter, girl-sister, girl-child, pearlescent girl drawn from the clamshell, girl as black bile hewn from the throat — all these girls, safe and sound within her.