Kathleen Peirce Outline For Flight

A sinker does one thing.

I’ve been dense, a vegetable, voile between layers

of itself. I’ve honored one virtue like the substance in a cell,

or shell, or crinoline, whirled there, whorled,

environmental. A nest is a mine

where siblings tunnel through the part

of earth called hen. Feelings in the soil

express themselves as tourmaline

or not, but tourmaline occurs. Inside,

outside, one wing will always mean immobility.

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