So many parts in one body; no wonder
people get confused. The way my mother
would bring up old boyfriends in an effort

to keep me humble, that is, to keep me hers,
the way my Maine Coon calico growls when
anyone comes between us, then lunges,

then sinks back against me, simultaneously tense
and floppy, a wary baby; I’m never more myself

than when subverting expectations, but never on purpose,
which would be self-defeating versus self-defining: no surprise
for the protagonist, none for the observer; you can accuse me of self-

importance, but what does that say about you?
We all contain everything; the only difference
is some kaleidoscopes freeze, others shiver.