requests

I would like to eat red beans and rice with you,
in memory of Maya Angelou.
I’ll fry chicken drumsticks, and weave cilantro in your hair,
and lick a spot of tomato sauce from the corner
of your mouth.
It tastes better that way.

I would like to swim.
We’ve already been to the beach –
(let’s go again).
We held hands on the bus.
I took an inventory of tattoos — purple skull, yellow flowers;
a blue bird wrapped around a knife.
When I told you I looked exactly
like the little girl in the seat in front of me, I felt funny;
I thought — maybe
we shouldn’t talk about what we looked like as children –
but you’d already sent me a picture of you weeks ago (blond curls).
You slept half off the red blanket,
half on the sand,
turning pink in the sun.
I watched sweat gather in the hollow beneath your neck.
I watched the sea.

I want you to drive us places.
Take me somewhere green and cool;
take me to wineries and buttermilk waterfalls.
I will cook for you over a fire,
and chase you between trees,
and hold your hand, shuddering,
lake-silt between our toes.
We’ll go to bed sticky, tasting
like marshmallow and smoke.