This year's selection is Christopher Bursk's "Why Latin Should Still Be Taught in High School."
Because
one day I grew so bored
with
Lucretius, I fell in love
with
the one object that seemed to be stationary,
the
sleeping kid two rows up,
the
appealing squalor of his drooping socks.
While
the author of De Rerum Natura was
making fun
of
those who fear the steep way and lose the
truth,
I
was studying the unruly hairs on Peter Diamond’s right leg.
Titus
Lucretius Caro labored, dactyl by dactyl
to
convince our Latin IV class of the atomic
composition
of smoke and dew,
and
I tried to make sense of a boy’s ankles,
the
calves’ inquiring
resiliency,
the integrity to the shank,
the
solid geometry of my classmate’s body.
Light
falling through blinds,
a
bee flinging itself into a flower,
a
seemingly infinite set of texts
to
translate and now this particular configuration of atoms
who
was given a name at birth,
Peter
Diamond, and sat two rows in front of me,
his
long arms, his legs like Lucretius’s hexameters
seemed
to go on forever, all this hurly-burly
of
matter that had the goodness to settle
long
enough to make a body
so
fascinating it got me
through
fifty-five minutes
of
the nature of things.
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