Angela Costi My Signature At first, the cowering scrawl gave away my too few rights showed me up for the girl wearing long socks in a zipped-up uniform with a case of too many pencils, not enough pens then I began to skip, one, two, eighteen, thirty – counting out those childhood years well before I drove into the rare night left the language of small steps in their tight corners took my I.D. to help loosen my tongue voted for all the noble losers – my name escaped for me fast and furious it spun internal circles of stress on grown-up forms for useless things: a Casablanca hour-glass coat, dark Onassis glasses, a black beret money from Daddy for Mummy's pressies which I secretly wore I skipped now using only my fingers made clones of their loopy lashed names bed became my new desk city streets my new school yard caught trains to towns where I could hide outside met strangers who pressed into my flurried curves wanting more of my flippant dotting, casual crossing, the way my name rode on the cusp of the world wearing passionate ink with hardly a smudge all my consonants long legged and willing. |