these words are a formality, she said, and spoke them anyway. i was born with sky rocket syndrome instead of hollow bones or horizon-coloured eyes.
i have learned to jump from rooftops on windy days and hope that the flight skeleton has not yet completely abandoned us. i have learned to ignore evolution's nearsighted tendencies. i have learned to
pray in elevators and reinvent bird bones in my arms, to offer dandelion clocks to the wind and imagine i am airborne. but chain grass is not a remedy and i was
born with sparklers instead of optic nerves. i can touch the fragile wing stumps they call scapula and know
i am descended from eagles.
and when you are born without feathers,
all you have left is falling.