a kind of yearning has hold of me – to die
and to look upon the dewy lotus banks
of Acheron

but I

go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine

in Hades’ house
you will go your way among dim shapes. Having been breathed out.

For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

and on the eyes
black sleep of night

but me you have forgotten

Source: Anne Carson, Sappho, John Keat

Percy Delatte (they/them) is the aesthetic coordinator for Periwinkle Literary Magazine and a grad student. They are a writer and an illustrator, and they also make jewelry, embroider, and speak Italian. They are currently working on a debut YA sci-fi/fantasy series, and their poetry has been published by F(r)iction and The Mark Literary Review.

Twitter: @percy_kirkland