I think I’d like to talk about what is grey.
About chocolate and arroz con pollo. About my husbands hands; how they smacked and sounded against a soft stretch of skin the moment I began to love him. About the censors, the just lip kisses, our beds: parallel plots. About the baby. The “How?”(as if there wasn't the kitchen counter after dinner dishes, the damp bathroom floor before showering). About the way my Mother is always looking slightly above my eyes when she speaks to me. Calls him Mickey. Hates the ride to see us. About my best friend; Her "No" as "Yes." About broomsticks sounding against ceilings and grapes between your toes. About my closet, my costume. My pins and polish. The henna rinse. The lip stick. And all the other ways I have chose to be