Incendiary
I’ve been deciding how my wings would look,
Ruled out downy-swan-feathered (& occasionally a little bloody.)
Not Victoriana fae, the era that forgot fairies are toothed beings.
Instead I’d like enormous blue-green dragonfly wings,
Iridescent in moonlight & slightly dangerous,
Flickering, almost-ready to catch fire.
On the days when my limbs are made of lead,
I’d stroke that lightness,
stoke that incendiary potential.
Roberta Verdant lives in Devon. She facilitates creative writing workshops, blogs for The Huffington Post, dances, swims and dreams.