By
J. Ransel Romine IV
And they went to thank the New England trees and their sandled feet grew dewy
And they went to the waterfall where they found the women of gens Junia, and together they smeared blood on their faces
And they drank wine and ate puls and talked of Bacchus and their own villa cults
And they waded and lay down under Virgo and wrote friendly polemics against Cicero
And the calendar read MMDCCLXX ad urbe condita
And they went to pick the juniper of Turkey and let their faces crack in the sun
And they went to Carthage and found the women of clan Barca, and together they smeared honey on their faces and drank their fill of sheep’s milk
And they lay down to be tied, and fester in the sun like embroiled beehives
But they could not face noble suicide, and they ran off under Punic curses
And fled from Carthage to Utica to lay down and weep
And chew on the stems of roses so they could again taste blood
And the calendar read DLI ad urbe condita
But they could not face noble suicide, and they ran off under Punic curses
And fled from Carthage to Utica to lay down and weep
And chew on the stems of roses so they could again taste blood
And the calendar read DLI ad urbe condita
About the author
J. Ransel Romine IV is an undergraduate at Temple University, studying History and Spanish. They enjoy modernism, critical theory, Beethoven, and peanut butter sandwiches. They worked as an editor at Danse Macabre. They currently serve as the fiction editor of Bombus Press
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