In origami the mountain fold
an obstacle. The valley fold
folds up: receptacle.
The difference between
structure and stricture,
and wastepaper basket.
The memory hits me like hunger: sudden pangs, gnawing edgewise. First it’s just a headline and the torn edge of a story.
What else is she ever going to be
but one of the wind’s outgrown costumes
stuck in the swingset’s tangled chains
I had killed the engine, filed my nails, organized my wallet, and done a sketch of my left hand.