It’s been years since we learned origami.
Things like how to fold ourselves
into frigid palms, then undo it all.
You are the first to sit up—
watch me laugh as January threads
feathers through my crystallizing pinions.
Winter is a five-year-old, floating, perfect.
The trees are prettier this time of year, limp—
gowned in sweet milk stuck to our tongues.
It’s seven minutes before you realize
& pull me inside—layer on every coat
in the closet & ignite a pinch of hell
under the kettle.
Out in our yard, the imprint is a window.
Snow fills. The distant spectacle clings
to the heat that pools in my stomach—
trickled down my throat with a mission
to dismember wings.
The wool shivers in your grip
as I feel my muscles start to thaw.
Danae Younge is an internationally published poet & an undergraduate at Occidental College. She proudly identifies as biracial & bisexual. Her work has been recognized by The Live Poets Society of New Jersey, Pulp Poets Press, Susquehanna Review, Nonconformist Magazine, The Curator, and others. Website: www.danaeyounge.com Instagram: @danae_celeste_
