By Jesse De Angelis
In school, I was learning Latin. In our books:
In pictura est puella, nomine Cornelia.
There are birds singing on the internet,
there are flowers on your cellphone.
In internet aves cantu sunt,
florum in cellphone sunt.
Listen, I was twelve. I just got home from school.
I didn’t know about love. I loved TV, loved the channel
that told you what was on the other channel.
Sometimes, I could see someone smiling far away,
could see waves breaking on the coast of far away.
Maybe you could, but I can’t think of anything better.
We all learned how to say I love you
in Latin. So, on AIM, I wrote to you: te amo.
Okay. We went to at least two movies. I held
the kittens that were born on your mudroom floor.
I got a tick in your backyard. The only time we danced,
it was under Christmas lights hung up in the gym.
Listen, I’m ashamed. I’m still not sure
who I’m talking to. But when someone
brings up the Romans, I feel like
they’re talking about me for a second.
What did they do? Fall. And me?
Jesse De Angelis received an MFA in Poetry from Boston University in 2015. He is currently unemployed in Boston. His work has appeared, or will appear, in Glacial Erratic, The Kenyon Review, and a few other places.