… A good day, then;
the voice as fresh as I remember.
I close my eyes to savor it
No wonder Orpheus, when he heard
the voice he’d played his lyre for
in the only season of his life that mattered,
could not believe she was anything
but who she’d always been to him, for him. . . .
Eurydice, Turning written by Rita Dove (Playlist for the Apocalypse); On Being 041122, read by Pádraig Ó Tuama.
“This, I think, is one of the intelligences of this poem, which is to find a way to allow yourself to change and, perhaps, to look for the stories that will support that.” Pádraig Ó Tuama.
