self portrait as icarus’s morning routine
Arden Maseko
i.
icarus sits at the mirror, lips pursed & wings wide
high in right hand lighter in left
scratched reflection in the steel [anything they could say here, you could say better]
inhales thinks of the fire in everything the love their father’s hands the wound, shut bright bright
life lighting up the end of their melancholy
holds thinks of father again what wonders he has made with wax & wandering & won’t come
home how he is both the flame & the ember how they’re all firelighters break me off set me
alight watch me burn
exhales how high would they have to be to take it down a notch?
ii.
they return to task: mirror looking their everything in its everything
icarus with weeded weight at the eyes vision folded over, out light gleaming everywhere: teeth & eyes & the bedroom’s skylight turned ocean
in glass defrosted to water
lips to sand-dusted shore
eyes to mud caught in a whirlpool
loose jaw to boulder on seafloor
skull to cave, crater
joint to mouth smoke to lungs return to reality.
the answer: if things must burn to vanish, they’ll have to see this flame through
see who it swallows & try again later
exhale very fucking high, it seems
iii.
they’re careful with the water, or so they like to think
spritz coconut oil & this sunken city into their locs
dab the oils & scrub the skin
2 parts brown sugar 2 parts honey all parts soothing
watches that old shore shine a little
foam bubbling beneath their fingertips rinse
four dollops perched on the nose, the cheeks, the forehead
the décolletage, for the usual razzle dazzle
a dash of something sweet to set their tone
rubbing hope-tinted moisturiser into sunburnt cheeks like
maybe, there’s a gift here behind the scented smoke
there’s a body burned anew, pair of lungs they could outsmoke but not outbreathe
& eyes staring back with heart feeling something
maybe, what it feels like:
sun licking flames above his feathered wings water rinsing the ash below them
inhale. another digression, another drag, another dying light in the eyes
catch sight of candle wax gone gold tucked into the room’s corner.
exhale all it’s missing is a bow. i’ll brand it on later.
they pause, blink, pull
stare at the half-heartbreak half-hope in the mirror.
imagine that: a bleeding organ with wings
death on either shore.
exhale. maybe i’ll let the moon carry me.
maybe then i’ll make it to high tide.
Other than a writer, lover, and frequent procrastinator, Arden Maseko (she/they) is a Rhodes University graduate, majoring in English and Journalism and Media Studies. Their writing is a mirror of their black queer non-binary experience, whether in poetry, short story form, or in journalistic work. She has also been published in select literary publications, such as Stellium, Fifth Wheel Press, and Hashtag Queer Volume 3, and is a regular contributor to Gay Pages. In summary: she’s a bad girl, no muzzle! She loves sunshine, wearing platform shoes, and laughing with loved ones.