Sophie Kipner

Wonder Woman

I tie a piece of yellow rope from my poppa’s garage around my toes as if it were my Magic Lasso. I wiggle each to feel the blood pulsate through all the veins that culminate there, from the tip of my pinky to the top of my toe, and as I tighten the rope, I feel the pressure more acutely. Preparing my body for supernatural powers is a complicated procedure, but it starts with forcing my oxygenated cells to circulate around my human body. Alive and strong I am now, and even more so I will become. Pictures of Diana Prince, the girl who could transform herself into Wonder Woman, adorned my bedroom walls, reminding me that I, too, have a set of truths within me that I have not yet met. So with the tools beside me—my makeshift lasso, my taped glasses, my newspaper-decoupaged tiara, I lie in bed waiting silently while my mind races through the circuits of my board-like, stiffened body. Stuck to the threads of the sheets like to a protective mother’s grip, my body goes from heavy to light, floating above my normal, human self. With the radio faintly humming news of a distant war in the background, a sound that is now nothing more than white noise, I feel open and ready to meet my own Wonder Woman, and for her to seize me.