and to you she is the tenth muse

by Ellie McCullough

you find stillness in the space between
the quarter note and rest
fingers whispering along your collarbone where
euterpe weaves a silky crescendo; lips trembling
because ares laughs at the impermanence of peace 
and somewhere you will find a

/ key change /

the gods ask to play another game
and trick you into saying yes

perhaps eurydice has tired of waiting
and savours the ambrosia in your tears
your sadness tastes sweet on her tongue
and melancholy sings brighter in the past

darling, you make oizys proud
covering your heart in feathers
in the hope it will become a dove and fly elsewhere and
maybe you’ll be free from the burden of

/ feeling /

it wouldn’t be elysium without
your chests rising and falling in tandem
her head nestled in the crook of your neck but
you know she’s headed to hades

she may be mortal but you’re sure
ichor is what makes her pulse so strong
beating sharp through your intertwined fingers;

and in your dreams morpheus appears and
they take on her form
a deity flickering under human flesh
although she has always been your muse

and somewhere you realize mnemosyne banished her tenth
who fell here, inside your arms,
a battle of rosemary and cinnamon
dusting her skin like a memory

to the gods, a mortal muse must be a wretched curse
but to you, oh, to you, she is a

/ blessing /

​