by Kyla Houbolt

The Queen o’ the Cats asks “What do you wish for?” She rides on the back of a hummingbird, and is neither so tiny as that nor her steed so huge. You see them both clearly, or perhaps you do not. Again, she asks “What do you wish for?” and you try to remember all that you want but then she says “I may grant your wish or I may not. If I do, it may be good fortune or it may not. If I do not, the same. I give no advice nor do I pretend to wisdom.” You will not remember what she said. Time has imploded on itself and you are bemused by the brilliant white fluff on her breast that looks like a feather made of silver and crystal. The hummingbird darts at you, humming. There is nothing you want. The Queen and her steed vanish, having bestowed on you the only blessing there is. You know this is not a dream.

Kyla Houbolt is a poet and gardener, living in North Carolina. Look for her full length collection, Becoming Altar, new and selected poems, forthcoming from Subpress Collective this fall.