By Angela T. Carr,
After Francesca Woodman, Angel Series (1977)
To fly, a girl
must first roll out from under the musk sour of flesh
must will her bones to bear her weight on dusty floorboards
must drag the yellowed linen from the bed of her unmaking
must salt warp and weft, temper the promiscuity of blood
must cut out the shape each wing, thread notch and barb
must bleach in lye and sunlight, make them lucid, snow
must soap them on limestone, plunge in scalding water
must wear the skin of her hands as drab pink gloves
must wring them dry in a crank-handled mangle
must press them in hissing tongues of iron
must razor her scalp, become a fledgling
must blade the skin from her shoulders
must sear it for the long work of stitching
must empty
the room of her voice
the room of her breath
the room of her shadow
of all but the
wallpaper’s curl.
This poem was originally published in The Lonely Crowd Issue 10 (2018).