Issue 100 - Paige Lewis

by Paige Lewis

my blanket would make a good parachute.
That was when I learned the wind
plays favorites. In the cemetery, it chooses
whose pinwheels to spin. It teaches falcons
the basics of flight, tells them to aim
for the wingtips of their prey. I don't say
this to my mother when her canary
escapes. I don't tell her how a gust gave
the man on the street everything he wanted
from me. How it whipped my hair to cover
my face, and how, in lifting my skirt, it
bared my thighs. Instead, I tell my mother
that if my brother jumps from our roof,
the wind will make his blanket a parachute.