I heard your song and fashioned it into promise.
I slung those words over my shoulder
Prepared to tow them out of the shade
Into direct light. Visitors danced in the back
Of your eyes, minding the music carefully,
Knowing what I did not. Four years this went on.
Fine line, tender ache, kindled longing I held
In my secret underworld. You once said,
“I don’t want to parent you,” but were
You not already doing that? Did you not
Refuse to leave me stranded below,
Alone but finally not afraid of myself?
Like Eurydice possessing her beauty
In a silent, dour realm—
How could I not want that?
But there came salvation anyway,
Soft notes assembling hell that hurt
Like heaven. They say you looked back.
That you wanted to be sure I followed behind.
Some defunct legend carries the whole mess
Of that truth, but I know if you can search for
Something outside yourself, you can walk away.
I’d rather grief be the furthest thing inside me.