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Wind Up |
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After years of trying to make a baby, they went to the basement and made a baby: velveteen and twisted umbrella frame, a mind made from an old tape recorder. When they wanted her to grow, it was back downstairs for parts. At seventeen, wood bones packed in down, sheathed in a smart wetsuit, she pierced the delicate silk of her face. Boys thought her body a game, a Rube Goldberg machine. Stroking her neck sent marbles clattering down her spine. They crowed like they’d discovered why she was made. She sighed, air over bottleneck, and let them. |
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