It was not my fault that the wind pushed you.

Hard and steady little boy hands.

I wish I had fashioned you seagull wings.

See this mist curling around your

shoulders. Does the wax drip for you too.

Take the vertebrae of a fish, folding

apart. Hands in offering. Crete threads

through my spine stitch by stitch, to balloon

its lungs. Is your blood the same shade sap.

That adhered to makeshift bladed driftwood.

I see gears whirling in your mind. Iron

rods betwixt your hands. Unpeel shards of

night. I dream of circles and reincarnation.

Truthfully, my fingers are suited to execute,

while searching for you is a Sisyphean twist.

I think you are haunting me still. Tell me,

did you lull Icarus to you and cover his ears,

rip off everything you wish you had, pulling

closer that answer like this yearning.

I remember only then. You are a child.

I am so sorry that Acropolis is steep and rocky.

Do not blame me that you lost your balance.

From Daedalus to Talus

Ellen Zhang is a student at Harvard Medical School who has studied under Pulitzer Prize winner Jorie Graham and poet Rosebud Ben-Oni. She has been recognized by the DeBakey Poetry Prize, Dibase Poetry Contest, and as a National Student Poet Semifinalist. Her works appear or are forthcoming in The Shore Poetry, Southward Literary Journal, Hekton International, and elsewhere. IG: @ln.writes