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17 July 2008
Verse Portrait 19. Mistaken Identity?
“It’s me, Rosemary,” I said,
rattling off places and dates.
A soft, uncertain girl
surprisingly steely if pushed
(rebuked my urgent force
after a fit, when I jammed a ruler
hard between her teeth)
she was still plump and pimply
hanging her head.
Finally she lifted her eyes.
“That’s my name, but I don’t know
you or anything you’re talking about.”