Wings Clipped

By Rachel Dacus

Reaching too far in arabesque
I may have cracked the two bony flaps
on my vertebra through. The seam
is clear in the x-ray, an injury
that self-soldered. I can’t recall,
nor can my parents, when their child broke
her back in such a crash. I only have the mirror
image: straining to hold my upraised leg high,
a pointed wing behind my head.

The surgeon diagrams how this inner butterfly
tied to my spine must be sheared off,
crushed and repacked with materials
between vertebra that will be fused
and bolted with titanium. The fluid joint
that hinged my backbends and arched
like a suspension bridge
will merge into a solid trunk.
I will stilt my way through the day.

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