Today she is sure she saw a smirk Briefly pucker the librarian's lips And not because the books on bridge, Baking and babies are overdue But because last year the same young girl Smirked to fine her seven pounds For the late return of Anais Nin. Funny, she thinks, I can't recall The words or the cover but I can still draw The woody smell that spiced his sweat, The tint of the skin of his fingers glowing On the page, and those long lie-ins. Her thumb skirts around her new wedding ring. Now, as before, she says to the girl You know how easy it is to forget Some things.