Maybe I left them in my twenties when I told everyone I'd had them removed. I had my shoulders taped back by my physical therapist so I couldn't slouch and re-injure my dislocated rib. People would ask about the tape and I'd tell them I'm an angel and I had my wings removed.
Well, I'm calling them back now. I'm reclaiming them and trying them on. They feel great when I have those spine-quivering orgasms or when I'm feeling the potency of my creative juices flowing through my writing or when I laugh with my daughter.
Yesterday, I laughed with her for a while and then I dampened her spirit with my impatience and watched the cloud descend over her once bright face. She has a much stronger access to that flight and I don't want to clip her wings. I want to soar with her. To laugh and smile and hug and dance and paint and make faces and take walks and write poetry and sing silliness and pet animals and splash in the water. Maybe she's my wings. She can show me how to fly.