i am in love.
there is no more meaningful way to say this.
he comes home with his sweater on inside-out
smelling like cigars
calling me chuchi.
i want to open the door and say
but instead i open it
give a kiss far from the lips
giggle at the tag on the outside
and say nothing.
we carry the boys to their beds.
we yawn.

i met a man from cambodia today at Miss Donuts.
he liked my blond hair.
The Red Carpet he mentiond. America.
8 Years in America and he has his own business.
The American Dream.

But always working.

I want to go back to not capitalizing.
so i do.
thinking i will invite him to dinner sometime. to yom kippur or christmas or kwanza or tea.

my boys went crazy for him. this smile that went on and on for miles.

they asked to be his friend. yes. he said. yes. i am happy your to be a friend. what? huh? i am happy –
i understood every single sentence he spoke today. and even the ones that he did not utter.

there is nothing like los angeles.
i am telling you.
there is a miracle here – ever uncovering itself.

there is some kind of bizarre and honest hope.

1 thought on “

  1. One cannot eat a donut in california without doing business with cambodians;
    they have completely vertically integrated the doughnut industrial complex


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