Dear Orpheus

Bright alley-oop, the nightingale’s munificent cry
would later be remembered as song,

                                                        but for now
settles in the back of the throat like a cough.

Is not any haunt or prophecy this burden, as it passes
from one station to the next? Is not sex the matt or gloss

that decides purchase?
                                    It provokes the mind to a sort of culpability

hitherto unaware of—these sheaves of music,
this predilection to name. When we arrived

we were invited to invent one another in various forms.
Me, the lyre. You, the head absent its body.

--Joshua Kryah, 2004

Contributor's Notes

Become a Subscriber!

Back Issues

Back to The Laurel Review

DISCLAIMER OF LIABILITY: The individual to whom this page pertains is solely responsible for the information, content or materials contained in it. Because Northwest Missouri State University has no involvement in managing the content of this page, Northwest will not be liable for any damages of any kind arising from the use of it, including, but not limited to direct, indirect, incidental, punitive, and consequential damages.