15 March 2011. Gray skies, dark morning, warm bank of lights across the way in sheltered 7-eleven. Passing for home...
Gram's birthday, at eighty, just now remembered. Her slender form on porch of Huntington Park bungaloo, house dress, bright eyes behind small glasses, smiling. Family gathering. I'm carrying an armful of roses--just back from two years in the east--Warszawa...and she begins to sing. "Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła," a tune that ony the two of us will know.
Another land, another time...
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