Orpheus at a Funeral
By Cyrus Quan
Death surely must be a man, for if all one knows is oneself, Death is all Orpheus has become.
No other could fear a descent to this knowing. Nor could sing of loss as he has slain songs mourning.
Authorities of mortal bureaucracy have limited her to an un-aged face, buried in smoking thorns.
Bitter laughter of the Gods as he cursed his longing, necrophilic fate. Unto Hades, he fell, in art & body.
Softened frozen rivers to frenzied heat, renewed berserk hellspawn to fetal sleep. He searched
Underground stations, assuming immortality would merit a bygone king's rewards, who spoke:
“Solitude for the dead, presence for the resurrected. Turn not on my word & leave if you leave unturned.”
Away two lovers climbed, accompaniment only assumed. Leaving without seeing how loss changes face.
“It's almost over,” Eurydice pleading to keep footing an a-front. Keep my name in mind but verdicts withheld.
The shadows of regret with two suns above, a shadow ahead, and a shadow behind.
Song returned, her breath on his neck, he turned & stepped, and forgot that which kept them separate.
He loved the muses only as far as his songs hung, now silent. Proud & unseen in the light.
Cyrus Quan (they/he) is a writer born and raised in San Francisco, with interests in poetry, experimental theatre, and decommodifying coffee culture. Their work has appeared previously in The Mandarin Journal, Matchbox Magazine, and Chinquapin Literary Magazine. They are currently based in Santa Cruz, where they study with the University of California, Santa Cruz, where they research the Carceral State and its Abolition, and the impact of art movements’ impact on radical politics.