Katrina Kaye

On Sunday’s pallid morning
I made you a god.

From crimson ribbon,
brass keys, and palm leaves,
I created wings and told you
to fly towards the sea
like Icarus’s ghost.

You smiled at me,
your hopeful father,
yet transmitted exasperation
with empty eyes
and tired sighs.

Bowing to you,
I sent you off
into the waking dawn,
down Mykali’s beach,
searching for a new beginning
through doors
left accidentally open.

“Open Doors” is previously published in a Shadow Poetry and A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).