THE DREAM OF ICARUS
by Zoe Zhangdreams of the sun
fill my waking life
and so
i wonder of
the boy
sheltered, caged
bars of forged-steel
alone in the workshop
alongside the father
of all machines
those wings of the boy
called icarus,
birthed by a pair
of hardworking hands
the crevices filled deep in mire,
of sorrow, and of hope
handed to hands
of soft pink flesh
who does not know
what to do
those wings
sun-kissed
strung by wax, taken
from dadaelus' home
the home
of barbed greeting
lined by malice
from which
he fled
taking with him
his golden feathers
from the land
where school children
spend day to night
scribbling away
their bodies choked
by the crimson cloth
of dadaelus' homeland
that icarus does not know
the land where the tongue
twists and tangles
to a garble of a whisper
passing through
those papery lips
and he wonders
if he can hope to know
hope to be
as much as dadaelus
the master of his craft
he stares at the sky
before his eyes
he gazes towards the sun
bright and full of promise
of things he hopes to do
so he soars
up, up, up
but we know the tale of icarus
of his wings
sun-burned
black curdled edges
tendrils of smoke climb
the visage of
what could've been
the wax he does not know
the wax that drips down
those golden feathers
feathers, stripped from brass
and i watch icarus,
in the bellows
storm-water chopping
over, over
where no one reaches,
drowning.
Zoe Zhang is a freshman at Century High School. Her writing and artwork has received two gold keys, a silver key, and an American Voices Nomination from the Scholastic Writing Awards.