Contractions define my form
Without my permission.
When my fists draw further apart
And my shoulders closer together
I fly on dismembered feathers
To make up for contractions now weeks overdue.
Shot after shot, I wait for blood
To relax through muscle and sinew;
But it never comes, never clots.
Draw again. Fire again.
I must have wings, I feel them aching six times over.
Six weeks later.
Fletched, numb, and sexless,
Neither sagitta nor seraphim.