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ICARUS

Icarus

The sea was rough the waves were ten feet high
I stood in a wind that was so intense it pulled the breath
out of my lungs
the cold was green turning to gray
it was february
it replaced my appetite
with sand
I stood there listening to the wind
steal my breaths
my shoes were filling up like hourglasses
while I lost minutes
grain by grain
I was stained by my thoughts
which were telling me one thing
after another:
you don’t want to get married
or write a book
or die in this cold dark land
you are confused
because you are trapped
in the body of an animal
like a stone in its silence
a voice in its story
or icarus in his recklessness
flying straight into the sun

ICARUS

Anthony DiMichele

Friday Harbor, United States

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Artist's Description

poetry

Artwork Comments

desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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