Crinoline REBECCA KANE

Rebecca Kane Crinoline

I woke up to crinoline piercing through my pelvis like thick, white claws. I looked down and saw my thighs being cupped in its ivory cage –restricting and protective, a poisoned lover’s grip. The bones hung heavy on my hips. Lopsided black widow shifting down steps, crawling and careful. Tap, tap, tap. Dry and breathing, the bones are growing. I was given an anti-inflammatory and an orthopaedist’s number. I thought I was special, but it turns out others just hide their hoop skirts better. I feel it thriving in me, joining my ribs to my neck, my skull to my toes – joints as heavy as satin. A bony virus rampant through my bloodstream, not violent but stagnant. My lungs are filling with marrow. Gnawing Saber-tooth, you are eating me up like antibodies, and I fear my spine might grow wings. I haven’t the time to take flight. I have so much to do, but I cannot move. My feet are callous, and my heart more so. I do not want the burden of miracles if they are this painful. I went to the Gallery. I wanted art to heal me, but the frames only reminded me of my stillness. And then, I saw her. I saw her stripped bare in silks and I screamed: Versailles I am calling to you. I think you are the only entity who can help me. Versailles, Versailles – tie string around my fingers and point me to your heather fields. I want only softness now: I am sick of cartilage. I am choking on bone! The oil would not allow her to nod but I knew she would have. I knew she would have nodded and smiled if not bound by her own boning.