As the horizon looms, flips over to present
an endless span of waves, I give up, surrender.
My fate’s the fate of falling. I guess I hoped for recognition,
that when I pushed my arms into the hostile sun
he would look up and see my face, the frame
of limb so like his lover, perhaps invoke my name.
I imagine women fainting at the thought
of this lovely form’s ravagement, the taint
of char hot enough to warp a wooden strut,
melt wax, and singe. But Daedalus flies on.
The body will soften momentarily, pliable if heavy,
finding shape hours later, so I devise my final self.
The scent surely travels downwind
in the contrail of smoke he, at least, could see.
I thought he’d catch me; if nothing else
to save the contraption with its maze
of gears and levered joints. I counted on,
I understood, he loved the thing.
—Anne M. Doe Overstreet, from Delicate Machinery Suspended
T.S. Poetry Press, 2011
Want the whole 30 poems, 30 prompts series in one convenient place?
You can get that in Earth to Poetry: A 30-Days, 30-Poems Earth, Self and Other Care Challenge.
