Naked, you lay in the kitchen floor’s crater, your body spread like a map: clusters of black chicken feathers. duct tape. and papier-mâché. Shrapnel crackles in the mouth: “better. we can do it. fly higher” and yet, I peel away skin upon skin of hardened wing to reveal your back swelling its bruise patterns: blue as murdered birds. Icarus, the unreachable wounds.
Jack Reid resides in Waterford where he currently studies English and Theatre at the local Institute of Technology. He began writing as a teenager and has remained dedicated to his craft ever since. His work often uses myth and legend to explore issues of identity, alienation, and strained relationships. Previous publications include celestite poetry.