Kathleen Rooney
Et In Arcadia, Ego I've taken to sculpting dioramas in our spartan apartment, late at night when I can't sleep. I started with happier classical scenesDemeter frolicking with Persephone, Cupid in bed with Psyche, Perseus saving Andromedaall in pom-poms, pipecleaners, and papier-mache. Then the work got darker-the demise of Socrates, Crones consuming his children, Orpheus looking back at Eurydice. Every day, when you wake, I show you what I've done. This one's called,
Even in Arcadia, I, Death, hold sway. It contains only two figures, but I've gotten really good. They have our faces. They're deeply in love, but they're going to die anyway. "For Chrissakes," you say, "quit being morbid." I turn. In their construction paper cemetery beneath a soapflake snowfall, their dance is slow and beautiful. Like a ballet.
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