All of the women any good at this are shaped like cascading peaks. I want that for me, too. So lean I’m confused for a wall, shifting positions all the time, but hinged to my own hips and revolving. Enacting revolutions. A menace in the face of things that move, I’d not go anywhere for torque like that, for definition. Walking in, I saw a girl I recognized and then recognized as beautiful. Not just because she was shaped like a paper crane, but because she could have been anyone. I’d like to be anyone. I’d like to be someone different than that, too. It’s both: a thing that moves but maybe just the way the weather does. Fast over big rocks. A fat sun, unencumbered, looking down.
Sara Potocsny writes in Syracuse, NY, where she lives with her son, Sol. She is currently an MFA Candidate in Creative Writing at Syracuse University. She has one chapbook out called The Circle Room, published by Lover Books. Online she has work in or forthcoming in Hobart, Radar, HAD, Rejection Letters, and others.