oh child, your hair was an animal, preening on your shoulder like a fox. it had two bright eyes that roved around its body. when you ran your fingers through it, it made a low rumbling. what was that, asked your deskmate. my hair, you said. your deskmate twisted her mouth around. you’re a mental case, she spat. your hair hunted at night through tunnels and trees, and one morning it brought you a mottled egg. inside was a new feeling. it started with an a. you spelled it in the sand and pored it over. a-n-g-r-y. the egg imploded. your deskmate was running through the soccer field, and suddenly you saw clean through her skull to two structures inside like glowing almonds. anger was a net of stars around you, a lace of aluminum trusses. it was lightweight and silver and did not debase you, not for years yet. you threw back your head, and the soccer ball paused at its zenith. in the trees, animals licked their coats to a holy shine.