Start small
the changes we swore to in
resplendent troths, without vision because
I burst forth from childhood
flat chested frail wristed pinions
not yet grown: all down
and yielding. So told do not fly
compress
bind
breaths are secondary to hiding
we know
we know
who sanctioned
this artless surgery — of
stretch marks and underwire
fear. That somehow freedom
is a fault my own
tend or trample
your suburban flowers, the sacred
distance between
thigh to thigh
we were already ashamed
to begin with
