In the Old Town house where
my grandmother lived between
the wars and my father was born –

under the loft in which they starved,
a trendy restaurant has set up shop.

I attend the opening, standing with
pretentiously prepared food in my mouth
and a strange feeling of guilt in my belly.

for only the ceiling separates this space
from the one in which she left her note.

Lifting a glass with a banded hand,
I celebrate life
for both of us.