Poetry month #11: Daedalus’s sister (for Lore)

There she sits watching the heights
To which her brother soared
While she, left on her knees
Tasted only salt.

The window frames the moon
The yellow spots on the quilt
Only reprimanding: Here you stay
And here you will wake.

So she rises from the bed
To fashion these wings; surely
If he has the skill she might
Find the craft to follow

Late into the night she works
A feather here; sinew there
Strapping them on. A look in the mirror
Confirms she may rise.

Out the window she flies to meet
The waking sun; Low enough not
To meet the fate of that son,
She arrives to meet him

Only to find Daedalus has cast off
His wings of wax; of wax?
But hers were made of blood
And breath, and sweat and tears

To follow him she reaches to
Remove them, only to find they
Have grown beneath her skin
Desire’s final echo.

Her clothes hide a little perhaps;
Her attitude more, but with each
Touch on the shoulder
Her secret burns.

Which sun might melt these wings?
She would not mind a little fall
If only someone could help her
Take them off.

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About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
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