Waiting, we played in line,
Like children,
But just adults in love,
I pick up a Milky Way,
Not the galaxy—it’s too big to grasp.
“Thought you were afraid of diabetes?”
He asks, flirting with me.
At the register, the cashier,
Overweight white man,
In his 50’s with a smirk on his face.
The customer ahead of us had piled twenty or so bags of Doritos
On the conveyor belt.
They were on sale,
And he must’ve liked Doritos,
But there was a number limit, and
So he left *******, not even buying one bag.
“So, how’s it going man?”
My friend asks, with a coy smile,
A smile reeling me in,
Like that Doritos coupon reeled others,
As we lay a few groceries on the belt.
The cashier, looks up, sarcastic, flatly,
“Great.”
“You get all kinds in here, I bet,”
My friend says,
And the cashier looks up, honest, with a smile,
“Oh, all kinds, you wouldn’t believe!”
And with that we all laugh. I peel the wrapper from
The candy bar, eating,
Forgetting about diabetes.
Walking out,
I grab my friend’s hand,
“All kinds,” he says, smiling.
I grin back,
With the milky way sticking to my braces,
And not caring.

I like the rain.
“It seems everything looks better after a nice rain,” I say.
“It cleans the mess away, I guess,” she says.
I say, “The mess is still there, but it’s shiny now,
Like it has lacquer on it.”
She laughs, and says,
“People like shiny things.”

We were going on a cruise, he and I.
The package read, “Two Elegant Evenings.”
Romance and I envisioned his arms wrapped around, my waist—
Small, us staring into each other’s eyes.
I put it all together, blue shoes, shimmery blue stockings, jewelry, and the
Little blue dress,
That night, on the boat, I pulled the dress out.
My man didn’t stare at me, or into my eyes.
Sitting down, to put on my makeup,
He said, “Do you really have to wear that much eye makeup?”
He stared at the other girls, and their dresses,
Sometimes looking over me, or past me, to get a better look.
And when I cried, “I’m ugly,” because I felt ugly, he said,
“Don’t worry, I’m ugly, too.”
On the boat,
He really liked the dancer girl, who worked out at the gym,
On the stepper machine, telling me, “Your **** is flat.”
When I got home, I threw the dress away,
And stared at my ****.

A Family meeting called,
We sat in the living room,
Together in open space
“Been years,” I said.
You sat at the corner of the couch
Looking like a raisin shriveled up, knees brought to your chest—
Like a child.
Me wondering when you got so short.
Were you always this short?
Because I remember you standing and roaring
Over me.
Tony, leading the meeting says, “Say something nice about Mom.”
And y’all did.
Y’all all managed to sputter and heap praises at her feet.
Tony said, “You (pointing at me) tell Mom something you
Like about her, too.”
I cleared my throat and looked dead at her, “I don’t know you Anymore,
And given all the wrong you've done to me, It’s difficult to find Something nice to say, I’m sorry.”
Afterwards, y’all told me how cruel I was, asking me, “why couldn’t you Just go along?”
“I went along,” I said. “And honesty can be cruel, but necessary, Right?”
I wanted to scream, that’s what I really wanted to do.
Scream to the world all she had done to me,
Like when she choked me to the point of near death because I was
Always the easy one to blame, or the time she threw my baby kitten
Out the window to crash on an asphalt road. What happened, I still
Wonder, to that small kitten. More than likely, it died. Or the time
She slapped me across the face and called me a ***** because
I put on cherry lipstick. I was only eleven years old. Or when she
Refused to sign my FASFA forms so that I could go to college, Telling me, “Trash can’t go to college.”
Or…"just get over it,” y’all say, interrupting me.
“I could get over it if the things done to me were at least Acknowledged,”
I said, done with y'all, too, and walked off.

“Have you ever met someone—someone with such a soul,
A beautiful soul.
Not that I believe in souls, but you understand metaphors.
They have a presence about them—
An aura.
And when you’re in it, you
Feel like you can just be,
Whatever that means—just be,
And that you can make room, make
Home. And when that
Presence leaves, you feel an ache—a deep ache,
Heartache?” I asked.
“I feel that with you,” I went on.
“I want to bask under the shade of your tree,
Every single leaf, take root.
I want to read all your stories, the words never written.
I’ll recite them.
If you asked me to pick a side, I’d say, draw the line, I’ll
Stand. I want to worship at your alter, bowed. I’m already
Kneeling.
“I guess what I’m trying to tell you—maybe in too many words,
If you,
Ever want someone around—
Even to just sit and read old books with (I know how you love History), I’ll
Sit with you,” I said,
Waiting for him to say,
Sit with me.