Wing Growth

Becca Wild
Sit down, he said. This should take long 
& will be painful. I waited, skin backed
in my hard wood chair not meant for these things.

If it was improbable, neither of us knew.
i bent over, hands wanting the floor,
pre-partum fetal pose, I
tasted pizza in the back of my mouth
and he checked my shoulder blades for knives,
for latent flight folded
under bra straps. 

pppsssss he said, graspless himself,
these are your wings.

[to anyone reading this poem: i know the second to last line needs to change. "pppsssss he said" is weak. but how to change it? its just a noise he made, and i havent figured out how to capture it yet. working on it. words of wisdom?]