A paper can be folded seven times.

Each crease across my origami skin

is sharp enough to slice. I’ve tried to thin

my bones and sinews, ink myself in lines

 

so small, so shrinking, safe to overlook—

passed between palms, a secret note in school,

crumpled and cast into a fire as fuel,

or pressed between the pages of a book

 

and fast forgotten. Still, I seem to spread

like maps of unmourned continents, shredded

confetti scattered to the careless wind.

Whole sheets of me unfurl above your head,

stretch out beneath your feet, a carpeted

offense. Forgive me. This is my last bend.

 

(Editors’ Note: “Making Accommodations” is read by Joy Piedmont on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast, Episode 37B.)

© 2020 Valerie Valdes