boys will be boys by Aubri Kaufman
on the fourth day after finding out,
I fold myself into crisp, neat lines
on the hotel floor, to spare the sheets
I never took that class, never learned
swans, or frogs, or cranes
but I remember fortune tellers
I first folded at thirteen
where you told me to wait, behind the stage
in the auditorium broom closet
and I became the hare,
a pelt, being chased
all in good fun
oh, to be a paper crane, a swan,
a frog, even; instead – a pelt
instead, a novelty.
Aubri Kaufman (she/her) is a poet and a mental health clinician from New Jersey. Some of her recent work is featured in Eunoia Review, The Daily Drunk, and Pink Plastic House. She can be found on Twitter at @aubrirose