Brad Bostian
The husk is
off the walnut.
She turns it with her paws and teeth,
Eyeing it down
her long nose
Like a Chinese wood puzzle.
It isn't that her jaws
aren't hard enough to crack it,
It's the roundness and the world it makes.
Later when the
nut is inside her
And the broken shell strewn across the bed,
She
curls around herself again, a world.
