Other Shoes

1
I drove through a rainstorm
on the low road

it could be me watching my car
down there

shining under street lamps
someone inside it

nighttime wind
rain blown to the left

wet and shiny reiterated
in blades slipping along the window

2
at the smooth-surfaced café stirring
two creamy coffees

I could sit here all day looking
out the window

she’s never seen coffee served
in a glass

the barista asks where
are you from our accents

we’re from two different places
she smirks and takes my hand

we sit people walk
past the window

I knew what she meant

I Wonder if Alicia Keys Still Likes Wearing No Makeup

You took my clothes off.
Now I wear a face.
You like it.
It has stretched eyebrows.
The nose is made of lavender.
The mouth opens and
the tongue stings you ecstatic.
The face is not a mask.
The skirt I wore is practical, made of real fabric.
But the face is realer, doesn’t need a skirt.
The little sweater thrown in the corner is wrinkling
where you tossed it in your haste
to have me.
I never get chilly.

Now I am the face—entirely face.
Smooth and prime and shining.
I feel better.
To have you have me
my baton at the ready.
With the back of your hand you’ll brush my cheek.
With the other, sweep the hair from my eyes.
Word-kiss, whispered beginning.
The rest doesn’t matter.