Hi, brother—
Since you asked about Rita
In your last letter, last I heard
Your foraging hunchback dwarf
With the unflagging energy
And beautiful bouquets
Of overwhelmingly sweet
Smelling narcissi who kept
Coming back to your door
On her little red bike in 1984
After you’d already bought four
Of them and placed one
In each of your house’s
Three small rooms plus
Bringing one to my mother
As a name day gift is now
Where her siblings put her—
In an old folks’ home
In Kalamata—that’s all
I know for sure for now,
But thinking back on how
Fiercely she fought and persevered
Against the ugliness of people
Surrounding her, I also like
To think her new surroundings
Are chock full of plenty pretty
Flowers like the ones
You bought from her, too.
All the best
From your brother in the boondocks
Of the southern Peloponnese
