What if Orpheus didn’t walk ahead?
What if it was Eurydice.
Head down, breath hitched
Walking quietly in the dark.
And what if the man following her
Was simultaneously Orpheus and Death,
A jilted lover or a man whose eye she caught
A charming paramour
Or a Lucifer of poor intent.
In that moment, whether Eurydice looks back or not
She becomes something of a Schrödinger’s cat.
Both living and dead, whether she chooses to turn
To stride on and ignore the presence looming at her shoulder
To walk a little faster
and paw at the phone in her pocket
To ready the sharp keys in her clutch.
Whether Eurydice chooses to look back or not,