Euridice Magazine

Georgia Gleoudi was born and raised in Athens, Greece, where she studied International Relations. Her poetry is inspired by the quiet details of everyday life, the rhythms of the urban landscape, and the intimacy of family moments. Ancient Greek mythology continues to shape her imagination, inviting her to dream of other worlds.

My poems grow out of simple daily moments and the careful observation of feelings and thoughts. The stories of childhood shape the way we understand the world, and I am fascinated by how memory can reshape reality. I am drawn to the importance of relationships, the ways we isolate ourselves in modern society, and how we sometimes try to escape responsibility for our own lives. I am also interested in how spirituality, often forgotten, can reappear in the most unexpected moments and ordinary things. – Georgia Gleoudi

The Three Little Pigs

My mother drills my brother
on Ancient Greek.

Let me tell one too—
a story I know by heart:

The Three Little Pigs.

We lived in houses
of straw, wood, brick.
The wolves were already there,
sleeping in the same rooms.

They devoured us
without huffing,
without puffing,
without knocking
a single wall down.

We lived in houses
full of fire.
The wolves climbed the roofs,
slid down the chimneys,
found the fire
already burning.

Years passed
before we burned.
Whole lives
before we said our names
out loud.

We are the wolves.

*

Classified

Seeking a reliable woman
with a safe car
to escort a lady
through her daily errands
weekday mornings.

Call:
Eye, Heart, Fingers, Ear, Tongue.

Seeking current
Seeking love
Seeking a hand
Seeking breath
Seeking flight
Seeking natural light
Seeking life
Seeking time—
Monday through Friday

An underworld flight
between crossroads
and the stars

*

Guardian Angel

Someone once said
that when we are born
each of us is given
a guardian angel.

A beautiful lie.

A grandfather, a grandmother—
back to earth.
We never saw them bite the apple,
never saw them
fall from the tree.

A Mother, a Son, a Father—
we quarrel
over who will claim them first.
No answer
fits inside a human mouth.
Someone always lights
the brighter flame.

For years
they hide in the dark.
We count to ten.
We step out—
no one there.
Heavenly and earthly—
all missing.

We grow tired of waiting.
We tie the blindfold tight
and keep playing
even when no one
is hiding anymore.

One afternoon
you will remember.

You never looked at me—
not once—
not when your eyes were open,
not when you crossed
a crowded highway.

But I was always here.