My Wings Were Too Perfect

.

.
too small to lift
…………..embedded rather, caught

……………………..between guessing
…………..and knife-like deliberateness

too perfect to use
…………..so I kept them hooded

…………………….slathered in aloe
,………….still raw, their husks wet

with saline. They will be
………….durable, I’m told, elaborate

……………………but for now I keep my wings
…………..drawn invisibly over scapulae

two wrinkled captives
…………..clasped side by side

………………….twin skerries
in a mottled skin of sea.

 

 

 

 

Poet and photographer, Ronda Broatch the author of Lake of Fallen Constellations, (MoonPath Press, 2015), Shedding Our Skins, (Finishing Line Press, 2008), and Some Other Eden, (2005). Seven-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Ronda is the recipient of an Artist Trust GAP Grant, and was a May Swenson Poetry Award finalist four years running. Her journal publications include Atlanta Review, Prairie Schooner, Fourteen Hills, Mid-American Review, and Fire On Her Tongue: An Anthology of Contemporary Women’s Poetry (Two Sylvias Press).