Begin: a memory from before you can remember
much, the kind recounted to you so often
you've constructed it for yourself.
A woman came to the door. You watched
behind your father's legs. She wanted to sell
your house and you cried until she left.
Admit it: you were the child who cried too much. You
lacked a layer. You wanted to be a scorpion
but you weren't a scorpion.
You were whatever an exoskeleton protects.
Soft interiors.
