The Swan
My breasts were already grown when the wings began,
but the process was nearly identical:
first, two painful lumps in the shoulderblades
so that I had to sleep on my stomach;
then, the men freshly staring.
I was an ugly spectacle, shedding puffs of down in class.
The girls said nothing cruel, said nothing at all,
while the boys would sit behind me and stroke
the baby feathers. Yes, almost every one of them,
surreptitious fingers twining the bones of my back.
I know I should have minded, but at the time,
each touch felt small and sweet. Like I could remain a girl
forever, drifting into sleep at my plastic desk
under the warm amazement of those fingertips.
but the process was nearly identical:
first, two painful lumps in the shoulderblades
so that I had to sleep on my stomach;
then, the men freshly staring.
I was an ugly spectacle, shedding puffs of down in class.
The girls said nothing cruel, said nothing at all,
while the boys would sit behind me and stroke
the baby feathers. Yes, almost every one of them,
surreptitious fingers twining the bones of my back.
I know I should have minded, but at the time,
each touch felt small and sweet. Like I could remain a girl
forever, drifting into sleep at my plastic desk
under the warm amazement of those fingertips.
Jade Hurter is the author of the chapbook Slut Songs (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2017). She was a finalist in the 2016 Tennessee Williams Poetry Contest, judged by Yusef Komunyakaa, and her work has appeared in The Columbia Poetry Review, Glass, Passages North, New South, Menacing Hedge, and elsewhere.