Woman with Wings

A woman confronts a photo

of another woman with wings.

The winged woman poses before

a tower crane that poses in turn

before a distant cityscape.

Although the burnished tangerine

gown that drapes her geometry

features elegant corrugations

that would surely trip her in flight,

her wings look too feathery

to brace all that fashion aloft.

The woman observing may think

these doubtful appendages fail

to justify so much wall space

in this worldly, pricey museum.

Without creeping closer and spoiling

the tableau, I can’t determine

if those wings have grown fresh

from the subject’s sexual ethos

or whether from early childhood

she enjoyed deep alar passions

that have fruited in this display.

Maybe she hasn’t actually flown

on those flimsy accessories

but will launch herself as soon

as the photographer has finished.

Maybe the woman onlooker

would like to have wings of her own

and will go home determined

to grow them despite the fear

this ambition stirs in her partner

and friends. I want to tell her

to go ahead and will her wings

to sprout from her naked back,

maybe after a strenuous bout

of routine lovemaking. Maybe,

though, she just wants to drape

herself in tangerine and pose

before a distant smiling city

where tower cranes peck at

the landscape like blue herons

pecking meat from minor species.