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|Reversal by Yvette Managan|
She holds a plastic dolly – one that has frayed hairs on its head and a glass eye stuck open, whether she cradles the toy or drags it behind her by one leg, head bump-bump-bumping against the slits between the concrete blocks in the sidewalk as she approaches, one hand encased by her mother’s larger, rougher fingers. The other doll’s eye is perpetually closed. You bend down, to get a better view, to act the part of the interested adult, the one with a little more authority, and you ask, “Has it always been like this?” and the child stuffs a thumb deep into her mouth. She rolls her eyeballs up at you and exhales, settles her small shoulders closer to her neck and stares, unblinking, relentless.