kitten by Kate Garrett

You would wrap yards of silk around
your Venus de Willendorf form,
and wear your Rhiannon-long

swish of auburn like a cloak,
shielding your shoulders
from spears and arrows.

I was the runt of the litter,
shying away from the diamond
boom of your laughter,

and I ran, tumbled
over moss beneath
the weeping willow tree

and climbed higher –
circling your head,
refusing to come down.

Years passed, I landed on my feet –
a scarred tigress, sweat brining
my hair, a flash of broken teeth

and my claws snatching the caramel
song from your throat.

Kate Garrett is a poet and editor. In real life she lives in Sheffield, UK, and on the internet she lives here:

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