Amateur Icarus by Marcus Goodyear
The moon is a glowing white ear,
passing between gingerbread houses
where wasps build their paper hexes.
You are not here so it can’t be changing
for us, this celestial cochlea and canal
trained at the earth teaching me to listen
when your phone rings and rings its robotic no.
Less sprint than marathon, these past six days
wear the moon thin, and I am a sheet
of buzzing hive packed around pupae
that will tear through me transformed.
Shed all stings you flying things.
Hooked moon, thinner still, from ear
to scythe, Your reflected shine can’t
bring me home before my time.
Marcus Goodyear is an editor and writer living in the Texas hill country with his wife and two children. He is an avid community theater supporter and coaches a middle school robotics team.
