Confessions of a Transplant: Awakening

As the day begins, as I ready for jury duty and the dentist. In the mirror I see my grandmother’s shoulders, her bosom, her posture. I see my first true memory of her. Beneath my top layer of brown hair is white.

A few weeks ago in Mexico a Slovenian poet, a lovely and learned man, said to me above the noise of dinner, “Do you know you are three people at the same time?” He beamed.

And I said, “Oh thank you for noticing.” I blushed.

Some have asked me: what did he mean?

One asked me: what are they’re names?

Now I will say that it does not matter, I’ve seen my grandmother in the mirror.

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