Ode to Eurydice: I Think of Your Hands Most Often in the Winter, by Cecelia Tivey
After “Hadestown” by Anaïs Mitchell
The clutch of a red carnation can engrave the hope of spring into your palm
Memories of warm petals beneath your fingers bring solace in these cold times
Yet now your outstretched hand remains untouched
There was a time when this was not the case
When our interlocked fingers meant more
Than the final grasp of longing
But the sting of a thorn always fades
And clutching your coat cannot shield you from the wind
I have tried to shield you myself but I know how this goes
You will reach for me and I will try to cherish what I have of you but
I’m concerned my tenacity is slipping—that you are slipping
I’m concerned the chill has stiffened my nimble fingers
Tell me, do your hands shiver now that you’re out on your own?
Cecelia Tivey is a seventeen-year-old poet from Connecticut, where she attends Greens Farms Academy. Her work has appeared in The America Library of Poetry, American High School Poets and Poets Choice. She’s been awarded two Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Silver Keys in poetry. Cecelia workshopped with and had previous work edited by Peter LaBerge, founder and Editor-in-Chief of The Adroit Journal. This is her first submission to The Howl.
— Cecelia Tivey
