icarus, immortalized by Tho Nguyen (16, California)*

if only these chipped bones would feel
something bigger than breath chafing
broken-elevator lungs, the thistles
prickling in wait under my skin.
cast a fishing line into sullied consciousness
and you’ll find shards of sea glass, ennui eroded
until it shines like something beautiful.

---

[somewhere, a man becomes icarus
and the ocean cliffs embrace him like an old lover
before he finds the sun.]
 
if only these trembling lips would utter
something louder than the radio static
humming in my skull.
maybe then i could shout at him to stop, to give up
because he doesn’t deserve to taste forgiveness
like polished porcelain under his tongue.
because he doesn’t deserve to know constancy
like a boat tied to shore. like the moon glinting
opalline as the earth lulls in its slumber.
because no fire is enough to sear
those memories into oblivion.
 
[somewhere, a man becomes icarus
and becomes the face of the sun and ocean.]
 
colors swim around him like weightless bodies;
they swarm, and then too many voices fade into one.
my chafed lungs exhale
before i kiss the salt of the waves.

​