one night, years ago, at the kitchen table,

da’s girlfriend sat me down for a girl talk

and asked me what I thought of my mama.

i said, “if mama were a house, she’d have no walls or windows.”

as hospitable as the set of a tv sitcom.

one staircase, two armchairs, and a plastic fern,

all the colors were paint on.

i had no better words for her,

but da’s girlfriend didn’t understand.

so that was girl talk.

one night, years later, at the kitchen table,

i asked da's girlfriend what she thought of love.

she said, “if love exists on this pale, dim earth,

it is a vivid, reckless dance,

bare feet stumbling on cobblestones,

clouded hearts pressed together.”

but I didn't understand.

because mama never talked to me like that.