wander and walk, her with her happy
pigeon-toed gait, me with my weighted feet,
the words between our bumping beats
as fine as a strand of her hair.
We talked books and boyfriends
and avoided the subject of falling.
When we could use taro cold
and coconut warm ceramic cups
of bubble tea as props,
our conversation thickened heavy
as my pony-tailed hair, the space between
filled with sips of thought, swallows before talk.
Copyright Xiomara A. Maldonado 2011