Shedding

This anger is two sizes too small.

Constricts my arms with its folds

Crawls across my shoulders

Over my chest

Compresses my ribcage. I can’t breathe.

I used to wrap it around me at night or

In the dark. In the cold,

It kept me.

But the down has turned

To wool. I scratch. I squirm. I can’t.

I’m wrinkled where

I should be smooth.

It should move when I move.

Somewhere

a caterpillar cuts through a cocoon

into grace. Its new body moves through sky

like satin over skin.

Knowing

just how to hold itself

through to stillness.