as a child, it seemed cruel to call them both catkins and pussy willows

if, when plucked, no such kitten appeared

but cruel things happen

they snowball in adulthood

until you look for fragments of light

clouds like acne marks in the night sky

a smile from someone you love

a hero living up to your expectations

like catkins, you appeared only briefly

allergic to everything the world could throw at you

machine fed and itemised

like schrödinger, we keep you in the basement of our minds

away from decisive eyes

 

maybe

just maybe.