Icarus Phoenix – by Kelly Hanwright

For a dwelling so small, it was gargantuan.

That house came crashing down, crushing
my chest. Forced to gnaw and swallow
paint, I tasted chalk and lead.

My stomach burned but
I couldn’t throw up; insides already coated,
calendar pages filling until food wouldn’t fit.
Despite the odds, when the time came,
I flew. Like Icarus. Somehow, I rose,
but my wings did not melt.

I reached up blackened hands and grasped a Sun.

Image: Superposition of Fall of Icarus (René Milot) with a burnt house (mrd-stock)

Kelly Hanwright

Kelly Hanwright is a poet, teacher, and dog trainer living in the beautiful Smoky Mountains. She is a Pushcart nominee whose work has appeared in various venues including The Birmingham Arts Journal, Abyss & Apex, and Lady Literary Magazine.

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