I am the smallest red hen hoping to outrun the mistress of the house.
I am a forgotten sachet, crumbling lavender at the bottom of a lingerie drawer.
I am a hollow tree. Is there a yellow jacket nest inside or only a quiet place to rest?
And, like a patient tiger, I am becoming.
I am warm brown biscuits made by paper-soft, lined hands.
I am green apples on a bending branch.
I am swirling feathers of red and white paint stirred together in a metal can.
And, then, I am pink.