Eurydice and Orpheus, Leaving Variation on a Theme, 1

by Meredith Noseworthy

I don’t know who he is. And the not
knowing rips through me, not unlike a train
hitting me. It’s not like being hit by a train: I
don’t splinter or break clean like dried woodand my shoulderblades have not bloomed
into wings, which means I’m not a bird.
He’s been the stow-away between my scapula
and cartilage. Now that he’s not there,
my feet don’t know him no matter
how far we walk, heels to boardwalk.

I’ve never known how muscles work, the pace and pulse
of heartbeats. When my mouth shapes itself into oar—
oar—I know a ball of string could fit inside
but I don’t know who he is.


Author Bio
Meredith Noseworthy is originally from a one-stop-sign town in Vermont, but
she has spent the past several years in the prairies of Western Illinois. More >

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