My friend extends
her arm and in her
hand is a small bag
of Cool Ranch Doritos,

'Ere you go'

I say thanks,
as I pick and ****
at each chip carefully

'They ain't women
for chrissake'

she says,
annoyed at how
meticulous
I can be at such
ordinary things

I grab a large one,
perhaps, the largest one;
caked with red, green, black
sprinkles, like a flat
earth birthday cake
ready to be eaten

I take 3 bites,
slowly, as though
they were drags
from a cigarette
before the hanging

'Thank you'
I say, more grateful
than she could ever
imagine

'Aint no thing'
she says

And out of nowhere
I begin to think about
what I'd like to feed my children,
and what stories I'd like to read to them,
how I'd like to teach them
to dance my father's favorite dance,
and sing my mother's favorite
native songs, and on and
on these dreams
unravel before me

I am filled
with sprinkles of
hope, nothing too large,
nothing too small

but the kind of hope
I deserve to have,--

seasoned
on this fragile
heart of mine