Burn the house down in front of your daughters. They will hang themselves from the tallest trees by their necklaces: the sequoias will remind them of your spine as they carve their last words into bark; they will know every initial forced into your skin. The shy bend of branches leads them to a stream you wept for their bodies and the roots to drink from. The gentle retaliation of their mother is true and sturdy, the kindness of a woman is relentless. Burn the house down in front of your daughters. Do not let them go to bed in the grove without fight or forgiveness.