she cups something in the cradle of her shivering hands
a piece of body warm candy, cellophane crumbled up
a neon quilted paperclip, a wilted tulip
the stars, the moon, the quivering of the rocking fan
the warping granite, the pastel green lawns, the cars that sped along
she wore a feline attire, whiskers drawn on the curves of her cheeks
she held out her secret, the one she kept close to her feet
while she stayed low to the ground, safe as she hounded out,
"this is my stuff, my stuff you see,
but it is for me, for me, only."