“Sophie came into the world as herself…”

“Sophie came into the world as herself…” July 30th. It’s Sophia’s birthday. As always, I find myself thinking of the parameters of her life: birth, death, life’s cosmic bookends in this sublunary world. How does one define a life? Sophia had 22 years of it, 22 years of life. Keats had 25. Dante’s Beatrice, 24. The numbers tell us nothing. And everything. So young. So young. It hurts to think of it. How does one

In Passing

In Passing Quadrant has published another of Sophia’s early poems, In Passing. It includes the footnote Sophie wrote to accompany the text. When Sophie collated and organised the collection, Antiquity, In Passing was the poem she chose to conclude it. As Sophie conceived of the poems as being the product of a middle-aged, melancholic scholar, a professor in the field of religion and mythology called (rather wonderfully) A.B. Miriam Thyme, it is altogether fitting that

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