About 20 years ago, at my first appearance in a new town, as a poet, I met a dancer named Diana Mehoudar. We were somewhat fascinated with each other. She gave me a cough drop. I saved the wrapper. And her memory. All these years. I still have them. Both. I hear she is at Helios now, and a mother. That is good. Better, perhaps, than had something else happened. But I still have that little wrapper. And I remember her.