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.