Why are there no bumps forming?
We look at each other, trying to remember how it was for each of us: first the feeding of pap, then the wings, then slowly the loss of I and the sweet emergence into the warm mind-nest of us. How long did it take? We cannot remember, but it doesn’t feel long, it doesn’t feel like it took long at all.
Confused, we peer at her more closely, our hands exploring. Only then do we realize that her breasts are padding; only then do we feel what lies between her legs; only then do we realize what lies nascent in our Sarah-girl is not any likeness to us but the rising question of who she really is, for our Sarah-girl is very much a boy.
We drive and we drive, all night and all day, pulling over only to piss and switch seats. We drive as if something were following
