Hold Like Owls

Gift to a Girl in Phoenix

12 Gift to a Girl in Phoenix She’d never seen roly-polies, never heard their names. Layers that allow them to fold into themselves. Our first date was accidental, which doesn’t make sense if you’ve never been without a certain kind of assumption: an ease of boy meets girl. I searched for roly-polies as a child under bricks not cemented down to the dirt. Blocks unmortared for them to crawl under and for me to uncover. Palms still until she uncurled her armor that was her body, let her tiny legs try out my arms. I know to leave holes in a cardboard top if I’m cruel enough to keep her, pray she comes out of herself, unfolds long, a gray inch in my hand. I hear books melt in Phoenix if you leave them too long.A tired heat comes up with the sun a kind of hot that sits you down too long inside.Women spin paper, grow oranges 13 that split open before they’re ripe to eat. Afraid she might be dead before mail arrives at your door five hours away by car, I question this present, this holding on to my memory of something you told me you’d never heard of before.Would she die with her arms wrapped around her knees if she had them? Or could she make it to unfold in your hand? Even the letters must be hot where you’re living. Unbearable to hold just yet. ...