Christine Christine once told me she would never describe herself as sweet. I wondered, then, what does she see herself as? Her middle name, Lee, is a version of Lena, her grandmother. And my middle name, Lenore, a version of Eleanor. When do we stop becoming versions of one another? Lena is a name I would describe as sweet. I think that will be my daughter's middle name. But not a version of it. Other people describe Christine as generous and giving, that her heart is in the right place. Some describe me as that way too. It used to bother me that she didn't think of herself as sweet, because I see myself that way. I guess I need to stop thinking of myself in versions of Christine. Brooklyn the sun rises, the morning glory opens its vine climbs up the harsh criss-crossed metal, a symbol for the city which contains it. children run their hands along the fence, the occasional flower casualty springs a foot on my chest. I pick up this fallen warrior, ten years later make it perman