Saturday, July 23, 2011

(assemblage sculpture)

I want to make
a girl with wings
Not like who
I was before
The father’s daughter
mummy girl
hanging from the ceiling
She swayed above
my father’s head
“What does that mean?”
he asked me once
“She is a part
of me that died,”
I answered him
with caution
I didn’t go further
to tell him why
not wanting then
to hurt him.
She was wrapped
in silver cloth
with silver eyes
that couldn’t see
a silver mouth
that couldn’t speak
and silver hands
tied down
Like leather belts
he wrapped me in
beyond recall
the silver welts
like battle scars
rising on my skin
He made me his
the mummy girl
asleep a thousand
I want to make
a girl with wings
who isn’t dead
and dry inside
who still can weep
but not for him
whose body bleeds
but not for him
whose skin belongs
to her alone
to do with
what she will
I want to make
a girl with wings
and teach her
how to fly


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