Harriot West

Juvenescence

What slender youth, bedewed with perfumes . . .
—Horace, Book 1, Ode V, “To a Flirt”

l still have a few of those old Loeb Classics on the top shelf in my study—slim volumes with scarlet covers. I always carried one on Friday afternoons when I took the train into Cambridge to visit my boyfriend. He didn’t care if I’d ever read an ode or epode, but style mattered to him, and that tiny red book was a splendid accessory—especially set off against my smart camel hair coat. It even spiffed up a pair of jeans and moth-eaten mauve sweater. 

dried petals
from a pale pink rose
he gave me . . .
the scent of dust
summer leaves behind

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About the Author

Harriot West lives in Eugene, Oregon, and rarely manages to write a prose poem that feels complete without adding at least one haiku.

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