Inscription
I go back to my quiet dusting
in my warm house,
find a book on the shelf, given
to me on my nineteenth birthday
by a friend of my parents
whom I did not know well.
At nineteen, do we really
know anyone? Günter Grass,
The Flounder. The gift-giver
died, a few years after the giving
in a car crash. I remember her
circa 1979, blond and pretty.
On the title page, she wrote:
To Lisa, who is warm and beautiful
and a delight to know.
It is a hefty book,
and I’ve never read it;
just once in a while,
her inscription.
Lisa Vihos
Sunday, February 6, 2011
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