Mind was a prison, ruby lined in its lipstick noir—everything woman I was expected to be, trapped between papered walls. What they said to do, I did not but only levitated at the burning, the body a water in which I drowned, the life a windshield dirty with love. What they said to think, I thought not but instead made my mind into a birdcage with wings (Title is from an Anne Sexton Poem.) Copyright © 2017 Melissa Studdard. Used with permission of the author. |
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