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 is a poet, teacher and dog trainer living in the beautiful Smoky Mountains. She creates art to help understand herself and her life. She shares it to help others find strategies to understand themselves and their lives. Work has appeared in Abyss & Apex, Birmingham Arts Journal, and Heart of Flesh Literary Journal.
Latest posts by Kelly Hanwright (see all)
- Día Profética by Kelly Hanwright - September 15, 2020
- Icarus Phoenix – by Kelly Hanwright - September 21, 2019
You WILL rise!
You ARE rising!
Above it all, through it all, leaving the World, the Past, the Pain, the chalky tastes, and the Sunshine will heal, not burn.
Keep rising!
Beautifully written poem, Kelly! Thank you for expressing the pain you experienced in such an adept way.