Of Wingsby Corrine De Winter
i>(Posted June 27, 1997 ? Issue 11; archived July 11, 1997)Pale Summer morning.
I have woken to a dull ache
In my lower back
Where wings are emerging.
The breakthrough
Has left scythe-shaped
Blood stains on the sheet.
Barely spanning six inches
The buds are sea-foam green,
Damp with growth & progress.
Yet nothing else has changed.
My eyes are still travelled
With crow's feet.
My breasts, torso, hips
Remain human & awkward.
But now I smile.
At last something in common
With Michael, Raphael & Gabriel.
Even Hecate, though mad,
Wore the implements of flight well.
By nightfall
A full set of wings adorn me.
For all their beauty & charm
They are clumsy,
Impossible not to crush
In the daily mess of humanity.
I might've wished for them
In a dream,
Wrestled with a handsome angel
To win them,
But with the inheritance
I have lost the feel of home.
They pulse like a curse
And create an alien world
Where, like loving, I must learn
To fly in a world
Ruled by gravity.
Corrine De Winter is the author of six collections of poetry and prose, including her most recent One Side of Heaven (Black Arrow Press, 1996). Nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she has had her work published in over 400 literary magazines and journals, including The Writer and New York Quarterly. Her articles have also appeared in the three most recent volumes of Poet's Market.