I add a pinch of pow­dered cream­er like she used to do and watch it sink away from me. “God has the kit­ten now, Momma,” I said when she came through the door. She was near­ly six­teen when Momma brought her to me one night and said, “Your sister’s com­plain­ing about a belly­ache. From the first moment I laid my heal­ing hands upon her, my sis­ter nev­er once made a sound. ~Kip Knott is a writer, poet, pho­tog­ra­ph­er, and part-time art deal­er liv­ing in Delaware, Ohio.