by Andrea Scarpino
Your bones as fine as
robin wings, I thought you’d fly.
Construction paper, wax,
duct tape, leather belts bound
to your arms, shoulder blades.
Belief a cresting wave. Before.
After. Your bones as fine
as summer, faith. Here, I said,
bell of morning light unfolding
in my hand. When you reach
the sun, I’ll ring it. Fly.
*Photo courtesy Narrow Pérez.