My mother asked me the other day were my grandmother's handtyped poems were that she compiled, some hers, some belonging to others. I hadn't thought much about them at all in the recent years. A few moments ago, Isabella comes out of the closet with a box. In that box contained those poems. I couldn't tell you what they contained if you had asked me. Then I started reading, almost fervorishly, flipping through them one by one, scanning in amazement. The poems were written during WW2 and many of them centered around her beau, Stan who was away at war. (She eventually married my grandfather, Antony, in late 1945) Some of the poems that I picked out at random literally gave me chills through my body, love. It's as if I am my grandmother 70 years later, writing to her love who was overseas at war. Her spirit, her love, her hopes, are in these poems. What divinity, God was speaking, my grandmother was speaking to me baby. They were comforting me, uniting us. They know. I am going to leave you with one of the most profound poems, one in which the author could have been me.
I LOVE YOU SOLDIER. XOXO
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