“Eurydice” by Alixa Brobbey

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Spidering from rock to mossy rock,

I brace for the floor to meet my face. Blessedly,

it never comes.

I remember our first few hikes, how you walked

almost backward, turning at every step

ready to catch me. I called you Orpheus,

told you to look away from my slippery descent

across the stone.

You loved me then with your hand outstretched,

love me now with your body turned, knowing I follow.

And who knows what wet hell

we have yet to pass through. And how.

What hot rocks under foot. What slippery

steps and what may snap up to trip us.

I try but fail to picture us then—

your sun-spotted skin and green eyes of glass.

Who knows how I will love you when your hair is ash. Only,

I’ll walk beside you still.

This piece was published in 2026 as part of the 15th Annual Mormon Lit Blitz by the Mormon Lit Lab. Sign up for our newsletter for future updates.