In an annex of the white house at 25 Bardwell Street
in Lewiston, Maine, Mrs. Hirshler and her students
sat catty-corner while reading aloud from Les Faux-
Monnayeurs or La Divinia Commedia, she in her light
German accent, pausing to eat her diamond-shaped lemon
or almond cookies–fresh from the oven–sipping lapsang
souchong, and to watch squirrels under the birdfeeder. 
Never nostalgic for the pediatric practice she left to escape
the Nazis, a widow, eighty, she napped on the Greyhound 
going to visit Einstein’s daughter or her sons. One of her
sons found written on a scrap of paper in her phone book:
“Let the merciful interpretation of all things
be the main concern of our life.”