green water

by Sydney Thomson

An Ode to Herbert James Draper’s The Lament for Icarus

For a brief moment, after death, in the green,

it’s as if he were alive and had merely been

taking a rest, on a bed of soft feathers

in the pleasantest weather, before decay begins.

How long the fall, and how cruel the end,

but his face holds no fright, 

not at all, the sight almost serene.

The day is so bright all but where he now lies.

How strange to see Death in the light,

because the sun knows

Death is softer at night. It might be romantic 

if it wasn’t so tragic. 

Oh, how devastating! If only the sun

had been kinder or the sea not awaiting,

with open arms, the fallen angel

the plummet fatal, a strike that leaves the ears ringing

the rigor takes his wings and

his life already gone, their hearts surely stinging.

Their mouths are open, they may be crying –

they may be singing.

Sydney Thomson honed her writing skills in the University of Washington’s Creative Writing program. She writes poetry, short stories, and novel-length works.