when spring returns,
she shall, by fairy hands, honor Freedom, the weeping hermit.
had we time, i would love her, for she deserves eternity.
darling, my darling, do you notice what hath remained?
time matters. i have seen fortune and from her shoulders
her loose gown did fall
it was no dream.
she has left me with brightness,
with subtle magic in her nearness,
soft as spring wind.
Icarus Grey made their publication debut recently as the third place winner of Empyrean Literary Magazine's summer '23 poetry contest. When not throwing words together and hoping for the best, they dream of one day learning to play the banjo.
A woman dressed casually in jeans and a blazer sat in front of a well-known talk-show set. Her hair was perfectly arranged and makeup expertly applied. She stared at the camera with a fixed smile on her face. The woman had done this hundreds of times before and was about to do it again.
“Here with us today we have Monica Cruz who was a contestant on the popular reality tv show Camp Castaway,” she introduced, earning a round of applause from the live audience. The woman shifted her attention towards the guest. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
Monica gave a shy grin. “The pleasure is all mine, Diane. I absolutely love your show.”
“You flatter me,” she laughed. “Now I’ve heard you rejected all interview invitations up until this point. Can you tell me what changed your mind?”
“Well,” Monica started, brushing a stray curl from her face, “I was just really afraid that anything I said would get twisted, and that my image would be distorted even more than it was on the show. What I did on Camp Castaway was not okay nor was it the impression I wanted to give the audience. But it’s out there. People have opinions on it. I think it’s about time I reclaim the narrative.”