Toys in the attic
of the house of two mothers
And the ghosts of their daughters

making noise, a murmur and
the hollow laugh of the wind-up clown
when something falls in the dust

The toys have never been used
The kids never wanted to
play with Olivia

That's why she has been fantasizing
for thirty years, about blood and death
among the bushes in the park

Mother is powerless
Only she knows the secret
and no one is safe