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.