I didn’t mind the way our fingers
Interlocked to create a sundae, vanilla
with a little hot mocha drizzled on top.
Or the way your mom ran her dark
fingers through my blonde hair, dreaming
of fluffy white haired babies. I didn’t mind biting
into the corn husks that held tight
the homemade tamales, and you didn’t laugh,
except maybe silently to yourself.
But when you took me to Denny’s
one sparkly night, we sat cozy together
like teenagers do. I ordered like a fool –
“a veggie burger please with those curly fries
And a sundae – with tasty hot chocolate sauce”.
You just stared at your lap and said nothing
for you, just maybe a coke.
You watched me eat my fill, swirling
the ice cream together as it melted
into a single colored slop, leaving much
on my plate. You took the bill
into your trembling hands, emptied
your wallet onto the table, and we left
Arm in arm, you – hungry yet satisfied,
me – full and yearning for something more.
First published in The Monitor: Festiva 2010
