Kitten
The smaller you fold , the lower I stoop , let my useless vertebrae interlope and interlock , until cartilage peppers , pestle and mortar , and I love you from inside a plastic dustpan . Girlhood will fade , but will you let me keep an acre of frayed craft ribbon , knotted in a ragged-winged , half-hope-half-formed looped bow ? Something about your folded paws reminds me of flesh cleaved clean from thin , brittle bone , coat hanging three sizes too big and trailing out forever , snatching luck and little bodies with gauzy wings . I reach to count the streaks of new snow , and when you score and cut and bite , you make me sacred until I scab over , slipping through all my red and purple .
18