V.34
Mother, father, I’m handing you this child,little Erotion, the one I loved the most,so she won’t be too scared of Tartarus,his awful mouths, and all the shadow ghosts.She’d have been six in only six more days.Let her play with you there by her side, my old,experienced parents. Let her babble my name.Let no thick grass cover her tiny bones.And earth, don’t press too hard on her:she hardly pressed on you.
V.58
You tell me, Postumus, you’ll live tomorrow.You always say tomorrow. Tell me this:when will this tomorrow of yours come?How long till that tomorrow, Postumus?Where is it? Where on earth will it be found?Is it hiding somewhere in the East?Tell me: how much does your tomorrow cost?It’s older than the kings of Troy and Greece.You’ll start to live tomorrow, Postumus?It’s already too…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, November/December 2018