By: Megan “MegLynn” Moss
He fell from the sky,
a god cloaked in wings,
his beak a blade,
his love a wound.
Bronze-bellied,
blistered with sun,
he struck the earth
and rose like a prophecy.
I did not cradle him in lullabies,
but fed him metallic vowels,
sharp as molars splitting bone.
My milk soured with war songs.
My hands were callused from silence.
Ash to timber
timber to tree,
I built him backward,
from ruin to root.
My Hephaestus, forged in pain.
My Icarus, daring the sun
with sanctioned wings.
He walked with fire tucked
beneath his ribs like a secret.
Let the vultures choke
on a heart that would not yield.
And if they ever ask
what a Spartan woman gave
tell them:
a kingdom
of sons
willing to burn.
Megan Moss is a writer and poet from Kingston, Oklahoma. She has been published in her university’s literary journal Originals, The Madison Review, and has been a featured reader at the Wednesday Night Poetry event in Hot Springs, Arkansas. She is currently a senior at East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma, majoring in English.