Portrait of an Honorable Man

We know what works, the hand
that stills into a boy. In all things
Fortuna that make the eye, you’re
to the hounds and hewn. My best
lover had better parts of swords
and running seers. O, they’ll say.
This was a man. He’s got the no
boots and knees to kneel for it—
I’m made of sterner stuff: there
once was a me that deviled, if
only to keep him Rome. If only
he wouldn’t love me for it any
less. All good sons have names
but I’ve worn myself Iscariot,
crowned in the heavy that fells
you. My father, too, was June-
faced. The friends I call mine
call me names but I have them.
Fortuna caeca est but She still
has eyes. I’ve never seen a comet
but I know where to look. When
I think of Rome I think I’m afraid.

Two Truths and a Lie

I used to off the [ ] coast kill
oysters where we knew a spot. The boy I would make
my ex-husband would come up in mouthfuls of pearls
pried from other mouths so my neck might
bear the weight of their beauty. I look good in pearls.
I can’t think with long nails. I grow them out to get them
done but once they’re done so is my ability to operate
without the tips of my fingers.
I miss his Portuguese. It would slip out in his sleep.

Sophie Sardari holds a BA in Linguistics from the University of Virginia. This makes her a poet on weekdays, a muse on the weekends, and a linguist on a technicality. She is currently a poetry reader for Sabr Tooth Tiger Magazine and her own poems have found themselves in The Harvard Advocate, Southeast Review, Columbia Journal, and other places.