Icarus

Icarus

by Morgan Sharpe

On an end of summer’s day, as slow as molasses And lost in time. My cousin and I run, flailing Out of the murky, blue green water. The pond that we know Like a husband knows the curves of his wife’s body.

Sprinting to the oak tree, The ancient tree that has seen this charade before Time and time again, generations of children Learning and growing, Finding their place in this world.

I approach the grand trunk, Glancing to our magic carpet That hangs from a weathered arm. Knowing the rules, I shoot a smug glance to my companion. “Loser has to push the winner first.

I climb aboard and wait For my cousin to send me soaring. Giddy with excitement I feel my senses prepare for my journey. The pushes come like a Locomotive, preparing to depart.

As I ascend, higher than I’ve gone before The sights around me pour in. The roof of the old, red barn. The lazy river, just past the tree line. And the warm faces of my family, Walking the winding dirt road ahead.

“Higher! Higher!” I shout to my cousin, But below, my safe homestead fades.

I am met by a stranger of the expansive sky, Assuring me that he knows the way, I take his hand. And it is only as the smell of putrid smoke fills my nostrils That I notice his wings.