•        “I have no complaint

   

         Prosperity that

         the golden Muses

         gave me was no

         delusion: dead, I

         won’t be forgotten” (100)—Barnard Translation

•  

Some days,
poetry pours through me
like sun
pouring through trees.

Some days, I am
a vessel
for an other-worldliness
that must come to shore.

On these days
I itch with light,
sometimes wishing
to be done with it:

to get on with the housework,
the children that need tending,
or papers that need grading.

But what can I do?
I am rooted to paper,
gathering gold armfuls
the Muses give to me.

                                                                                                       ~Lindsey Bellosa

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