A Curious Moon

By Zachary Walter

Cancer 𖤓 | Capricorn ⏾ | Sagittarius ↑

Father,
I plan to fly.

When you find this little letter
tucked beneath your wings
wax-molded to your back,

just try.
Understand.

I’ve tried to tell you
that I’ll fly as I wish

You merely grunted.
Your work deafens.

So, read.

I imagine you searching the sky,
combing the waves, looking everywhere

but yourself for any trace
of your son.

Let me be the one to tell you.
It’s your fault I want to try.

It was all too late to whisper,
Don’t fly too close to the sun.

In my eyes, do you see yours?
Do you worry I’ll reach it?

Burning, lighting a melted path
to the sun you’ll never realize.

Father,
when you wake up

every morning I pray for you
to find your back sweaty, still
holding memory of a glide.

You think me a fool who never listens,
but you know I helped us fly.

You may weave the tale
that your creation was not
flawed, but simply got carried away.

It was pointless to say,
Don’t fly too close to the sea.

Watch me hit the water
or just find me gone.

It doesn’t matter. So long
as I’m the one who flew.

—Icarus

Zachary Walter (he/they) is a junior at University of Central Arkansas. He is a triple major studying Creative Writing, Technical Writing, and Philosophy while trying to merge all three in a way that will have a positive impact on a dire world. He currently has had two poems published in his university’s undergraduate magazine, The Vortex.