Ladies of the Roman Empire: tell us
your story. Are things different now
that the West has fallen? What was it
like to see a world without ruins? Did
you lean against columns, wondering
if things would ever change? Might
a convoy arriving with news of war
look any different from one that told
of peace? Were those early olives
any good? Ladies. We want to know.
Ladies of the Roman Empire: tell us
what you wore. Not what we’ve found
on skeletons, or in the tedious folds
of your epics, but the way you threw
your hair for a bachelor, that shudder
of beauty before a mirror, a whispered
affection in the dark halls of a temple.
How did the evening sun break upon
your face in the market? How did you
comfort a child in the night? By what
ancient breeze did your robes flutter
by the sea? Ladies. Smile for the poem.
Ladies of the Roman Empire: tell us
about the fellas. Upon what dull fabric
did you receive a man’s touch? Were they
brutes or merely brutish, indifferent to
your warmth in the night and rewashing
of spoons? By what shapes did they rise
and fall, pulling in the boats, gathering
silhouettes in the harvest? Did you find
time to talk? Did they speak of love, or
of anything at all? Ladies. Don’t be shy.
Ladies of the Roman Empire: I’m sorry
about the tourists in Milan. Today’s goods
are woven with precision unimaginable
to you, as it is to us. The great tattoo
artists of our time still show up drunk
and late. This morning I saw a whore
in East LA with eyes broadly drawn
as Cleopatra’s, and I can only wonder
if you, ladies of Rome, learned to trust
your studs as they marched in wartime
and in peace among the girls of Egypt.

Learn more about Devon Bixler at his website.