when orpheus led his wife out of the dark
when orpheus led his wife out of the dark,
through the nebulous host of gathered souls,
in that moment before
the first breath out of water,
did his doubts sit ashen and curdling on his tongue?
is that why he glanced back
and lost her forever?
i will not doubt.
i swear to you—
when my grandmother calls us damned,
when the churches and bakeries bar themselves against us,
when the whispers skitter and strike at our heels,
i will not turn my head.
not when loving you
is like an unresolved chord on the edge of salvation,
like cracking open my ribcage with every breath,
plunging towards a storm-tossed ocean,
grasping a sparrow in flight.
for you, my love, i would play a thousand lyres
to the glimmering granite lord of the abyss;
i would call you mine to anyone who would listen
if i didn’t see how it made you afraid.
it will not be like this forever.
we’ll just keep taking small steps forward,
and when twilight falls in the land of the dead
and i can’t hear your footsteps behind me,
i’ll think of a softer night:
us barefoot in your kitchen cooking pasta
as you steal mozzarella straight from the bag,
singing along along with the radio
as the lights overhead buzz and waver.
when we’re older and stronger,
my eurydice,
i’ll kiss you on our doorstep
and we’ll let the world say what they will.
we’ll play our music loud. we’ll tell the truth.
but for now i’ll wind a lock of your hair around my finger
and pretend my heart isn’t trying
to beat itself into flight.
never worry, my love.
i will let the light of the waiting world
and the warmth of your hand
lead us out of the dark.
i will break the chain.
i will keep the faith.
i will not look back.