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If I
were any superhero,
I’d
probably be Kitty Pryde,
The
youngest of the X-Men.
But
I don’t want to be.
The
ability to phase, to become
Insubstantial,
untouchable,
Able
to walk through walls
Without
leaving any part of myself behind,
Vanishing
suddenly, dropping right through the floor?
No thanks.
Better to have laser eyes like Cyclops,
Or
give me Wolverine’s adamantium claws and
Crazy
strength,
The
better to pull the building down around me
In
my raging grief on moving day.
But
I won’t. I’m just Kitty Pryde.
In
the weeks before the move, I’ll start to phase.
I
appear solid, but if you try to hug me,
Your
arms will pass right through.
I
shift into intangibility,
A
ghost, slipping through the hands of friends,
A
lame duck president,
A
dead man walking.
The
clock is ticking, a time bomb.
If
my heart becomes like mist, maybe it won’t break.
Going
through the motions without feeling,
One
foot in front of the other
Until
the moving van comes,
Until
my house is as hollow,
As
my bones:
Empty.
And
then I vanish, too.
Poof!
Now you see me,
Now
you don’t.
Uncanny.
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