I find myself, now, tasked with
a Labor more Herculean
than any hardship
I've ever faced.
the gods have turned to me,
plucked me from the shores of Elysium
and dared me:
live.
go
back
and
live
life
as
if
nothing
ever
happened.
and I cannot ask for my heart
to not remember,
no more than I can ask for
stories of old to not be written.
if Eurydice's name is already written,
in the same line as Orpheus's,
how can I hope to erase your name
from next to mine?
If Patroclus's tragedy is already scarred,
in the same blood-red as Achilles's grief,
how can I hope to read my name,
and not find yours carved besides it?
if Penelope's soft smile is woven
between the threads of the Odyssey,
how, how, how
could my story not be about you?
how could I ever
live
as
if
nothing
ever
happened?
I find myself, now, tasked with
a punishment more Sisyphean
than any pain
I've ever felt.
the gods have turned to me,
plucked me from the shores of Elysium
and dared me:
forget.
go
back
and
live
life
as
if
nothing
ever
happened.
