I never thought I could say this: I was born with wings. I was flight I was toward. Nana told me between bites of dry toast that one day I would be ordinary. She told me that family was often a sick garden. No wonder I’ve been running around pulling weeds from the ground calling myself a savior. The things I save are the things I keep, which is not to say they have been rescued. Which is to say they are captive, they are held against. A stranger asked Do you know you are beautiful? I said I don’t know my mouth from a hole in the ground. This is what incongruity means. This is a drawing of a tipped scale. I want to marry the man who owns the most feathers. I want to marry the man who can hold me on his outstretched hand. My shoulders itch from what I’ve missed. I miss my mother my mother is missing. You are temperate and I am temperamental. There are two raw holes in my shoulders. This means I am possible. This means I’m beginning.
Meghan Privitello lives outside of Atlantic City, NJ where she is near completion on her first manuscript Notes on the End of the World. Her work is forthcoming in NOÖ Journal and Gigantic Sequins. You can follow her on twitter @meghanpriv.