At first, I was jealous of her
for her ability to translate from the Latin
the autobiography of Pius II
and later for having been visited in her room
by a young hedgehog who peered out from behind a drape
and whom she coaxed outside with a broom
after they had stared at one other for a length of time.
How could I allow my Latin to wither on the vine?
And why am I never the object of such visitations,
I lamented, not really knowing
if I would have killed the thing with an iron poker
or just put on the kettle, then sat him down
at the tea table, a white napkin tied
around his neck, biscuit crumbs stuck to his snout.