The salty Peloponnese flood
Of minerals and Trojan blood
Is in this oily, briny fruit,
Savored by Milton to salute
The poets of antiquity.
It is the flavor of the sea
And ink squirtings of cephalopods;
Mortality plucked from a god’s
Martini at the end of time,
When guilt squares up with every crime,
And joy has run its fi-nal course,
And nothing but divine remorse
Attends the last aperitif:
It is the very taste of grief.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
John Paul II and America
When he was elected bishop of Rome on October 16, 1978, Cardinal Karol Wojtyła had a rather…
How Democrats Turned on Religious Freedom
Today’s Democratic Party rejects the central claim of the Declaration of Independence—that inalienable rights are given by…
The Peace We Can Make
Repetition, it’s said, can be the mother of learning. So, in light of recent Catholic debates about…
