I have wings. |
I noticed them one day when I was in the shower; two flaps of minor skin amid each underarm recess. And it raised some concern yet nothing close to panic; a cyst or some such thing--you know the skin is prone to odd. Mindful I stayed of skin, psoriasis and blackhead, yet underneath each arm began another part of me. As far as I know I’m not an angel, nor any creature home in the air. I am mostly English, Scotch and Welsh, an earthy and conservative sort of guy. When I was young I did imagine, about the powers I could have. Now it seems I have something unique, I feel the power that has grown in me-- one thing I’ve never had. Strangest thing, I’ve become... someone with wings. They grew and winged was I, counter to evolution; beyond the drift of gene, beyond mutation now and then. But I had full control and so I flapped with vigor; two wings in middle age--you know it’s weird to be a bird. Mindful I watched my height, it was like treading water; yet it required more of me--the air is not as dense. I flap my wings the ground is receding; now suddenly I’m able to fly. I am still the same sweet person inside; the Earth pulls, yet over it I abide. As I am aware I have a power; it lets me rise above the ground. But in truth I think they’re specious wings because I am alone--and all alone, the world is incomplete. Strangest thing, I’ve become... weary of wings. 34 Lines Writer’s Cramp June 11, 2014 |