attempts at growing wings

i have planted strawberry seeds
across my shoulder blades. i have 
talked to the pigeons. asked politely 
how exactly they came to request flight
from the universe. i have jumped off
my parents roof. laid in the yard
& looked up at the stars that appeared
just like strawberry seeds. maybe it is
because i am unsure of why i want
to fly. i have had the dreams that
everyone does. the flight dreams.
my least favorite is one where my father
tosses me in the air & i just keep
rising higher & higher until the world
is a dot of light in the distance.
i don't even need the big vulture wings.
i just need something i can use
to skip the highway. to travel like
a leaf across borders. the sky, despite
all the airplanes & despite all the smog,
is still a place where i feel like i could
be alive. i see grids where there aren't any.
i look at my back in the mirror 
& find nothing but patches of old man hair.
what am i going to do if the ceiling 
falls in & all we have is the dirt? 
once i sculpted a pair of wings
from river clay. i knew from the star
they would be too heavy but i wanted
to wear them just for a day. i put them on.
no one asked if i was an angel but 
some people did ask if i was lost.
yes, i thought, of course i am lost. who here
is not lost? i think hundreds of years ago
my ancestors thought the same.
there are stories of bird people. 
a man who beat his wings until they arrived.
i am not him. instead, i am a hungry 
worm creature. the sky fills with clouds. 
some of them, heavy enough to storm.