Rose

I was a Classics major in college. My senior thesis was comparing two translations of Homer's Odyssey. Lattimore and Fitzgerald. I chose Fitzgerald. His rosy-fingered dawn has always stayed with me. This is Rose Sunday, the Sunday those churches with money for pink vestments wear rose and maybe add a flower or two around the altar.

Forty years ago

I wrote a thesis

On the rosy-fingered dawn,

Which translation

Said it best:

The literal

The poetic.

I chose poetry.

I continue to choose poetry

Nigh on

Forty years later.

The thesis is gone.

The poetry remains

Rosy-fingered dawn

I hold up my hands

Picture the sun

Rising

A poem

In itself.