a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

M.C. Rydel

Letter to Antigone

 

You died so young the dates

Were never chiseled into their gravestone,

Achieving immortality through neglect.

See, in tragedy, everything is clean,

Flawless, inevitable, hopeless, and known.

All are bound to their parts.

You buried a brother with a handful of soil

Then died a scripted destiny

Like a future performance of your play.

What gods keep you company in the afterlife?

Why is your heaven

Alive only in the dreams of the living?

Where feet get caught in a quicksand blanket,

Where gardens suddenly materialize, where flies crawl on shoulders,

Where you make yourself present in the present

Like an uninvited update to a cell phone

From some satellite spinning overhead,

Or like a box of war coins found hidden in a closet:

Swastikas, Lira, Francs, and Shillings;

You find life in memories and serendipity

And make yourself known to us by hiding sets of keys.

Tell me you still leave ingredients out of the recipes

You share with other phantoms. Tell me you still dabble

With myths and magic. Find something bad to say about somebody,

And come back to the living through some dreamer’s mirror,

When your dark eyes bright and sly

Burn themselves into the dreamer’s reflection

And make her cringe, and make her run,

Make her move with tremendous speed over vast distances,

Chased by someone she never even knew.

You died so young the dates

Were never chiseled into their gravestone,

Achieving immortality through neglect.

 

 

M.C. Rydel was born and educated in Chicago where he teaches English literature and writing at Loyola University and The Hadley School for the Blind. His poetry has appeared in The Oyez Review, Shadowboxing, and Lucky Star Magazine. M.C. also performs his poetry at various spoken-word venues in the city.

 

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