A Week, Athens, August

Grandma Maria's
adopted me.
Underneath
her lemon tree,
I read
Aristofane.*
Cherlona
sidles
by me.
The Frogs sing.
Lemon tree,
sweet,
Athens,
August.

"Afternoon,
siesta."
Trzy—
Grandma Maria,
cherlona,
me.
Sleep,
sleep,
innocente.
Rooms,
high,
cool,
we
sleep,
Athens,
August.

We awake.
Maria weeds
her husband's grave.
"A good man," he
died beneath
the lemon tree
that she waters
faithfully.
I wait.
Athens,
August.

Sunday: "Come."
Maria takes me
to Lykavitou.
We shall see
sunset "hide"
the Acropole.
I dress up.
She turns to see
"Beau-ful!"
And I,
she,
shall always be
"Beau-ful!"
Athens,
August.

My grandmother died
too soon,
too soon.
I found her body,
an empty room.
Now
for a week,
I find her again,

alive,

Athens,
August.

This poem employs the Greek pronunciation of some words: Aristofane for Aristophanes, Lykavitou for Lycabettus (a hill in Athens), and Acropole for Acropolis. Cherlona is Greek for tortoise. Tortoises are lucky in Greece, and Maria kept one in her garden. Trzy is Polish for "three" (the poet's grandmother was Polish).