Hold up your asp, Cleopatra––
I’ve something more to say.
frost-skewed tree branches
barking under our own insignificance.
Our Actium was lost long before the war.
I don’t know where I’ll go, though I
know this leaf-lain portico well enough.
I’ll take my place, perch beside the gold felines
atop your silent mantelpiece, each
weighted with the remnants of emperors that
once drank in your everlastence,
and wait for you to join us.
Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John T. Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado, in our Monday Musings.