Erica Minton

THIEF

She sinks into the battered couch, pretending
there are thieves in the house. She holds her breath
until it porcupines in her chest, finally releasing it
in sixteenth notes. Her ribcage jostles. Wind
through the curtain is proof of thieves; she nestles
deeper into the crevice between couch and cushion.
Stretches, lengthy. Her legs have borrowed
pleats from the corduroy. She pulls a pillow
over her face, straining to hear something
that will make her heart race. She waits an hour.
The doorknob clicks, boots scrape. He is home
and will howl, discovering she is stolen.