Something

Angie

I called it myth-making on the sidewalk with

Our slang made of god.

I could only be palpated to

Invisible birds; the whole

Sky looked like a saint

When my eyes were closed.

Wasn’t my swanhood enough? The

Curvature of our necks, two 

Wounds suckling water. 

You reached out for something 

Tangible, and as the curves in my body 

Swelled, my throat became nameless

And I became the eyes 

Of swan legs.