Metallic blouses cuffed and swelled. I wore a bright red hat toe-tapped, singer of a Sunday writhing. I’d like to tell about the light, white daffodil folded through the cracked double door. Wooden rafters and the wolf topped the wood, pressed his toes playfully into our heads. His fur filed the backs of ours for food and lumber. There were long front yards felled over emerald grass, what sun I had missed.
Chairs made of maple, grandmas with long hair, glossy-lipped. I walked
42