by Lindsey Walker
The feathers form a laurel crown around the boat, and the fisher covers his eyes where the body of Icarus floats facedown. The body bloats on seawater. Brown fish flit between the boy's spread thighs. The feathers form a laurel crown, and beeswax stipples his skin like down; his flesh becomes fig when purpling tones rise. Where the body of Icarus floats facedown, the fisher’s too far from the Aegean town to wave for help or to raise his cries. The feathers form a laurel crown, and gulls swarm for fagri guts. The fisher's frown sours his face, and cutting water, the oars sigh where the body of Icarus floats facedown. Around the boat, the fisher's net casts down in gods' blue water where the boy still lies. The feathers form a laurel crown where the body of Icarus floats facedown.
Lindsey Walker is a poet, writer, esthetician, and salon/spa owner originally from Chattanooga and currently residing in Seattle. She received her BA in English/creative writing from Seattle University in 2014. Her work has been published a little in print and a lot online, most recently in Fried Chicken and Coffee and Licton Springs Review. She has won a few prizes, including best creative nonfiction at the Northwest Undergraduate Conference for Literature in 2014. When she's not working or writing, Lindsey is probably collecting and spinning old punk vinyl, watching a terrible movie with her dude and two pooches, or working on her right hook in boxing class. Visit her anytime at her website.
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