les_jeune_filles belly fire we put things away in boxes; our old selves, our memories and hopes even, maybe, for a time they carry the perfume of clean, folded laundry or mom and dad's hand-me-down winter blankets the frantic search for a college transcript yields such rich treasure that you forget that you have locked the cat in behind you and she cries quietly for hours while you pour over the girl you were; sampling her in pictures and trying to place yourself in her choppy, boy-length hair, her wild smile I gaze into the mirror and see traces of her there and now the memories are sweeter I curl the cat into my arms after I have lifted the boxes to the shelves; a woman made up of little girls. 060420 what's it to you? who go blather from