portrait of two apples

but what if i weren’t hungry
and decided to wait for mom to come home
instead? who else would fill my plate
with bulgogi, with another layer of egg rolls or mound
of marinated spinach my stomach expands
to fit, even when it’s already full
of love and care?

what if i weren’t bothered by my sneakers’ stained
soles, instead snow-angeling in my hammock
like a starfish under the blazing sun
until siri screamed, “call from mom devil emoji.”
what if, instead, i watched the gray clouds
slide across the sky’s stomach
in awe?

what if i didn’t buy two apples
at whole foods, let the red and green tints
flavor only my world, spinning
without anyone else to care about, surrounded
with the twirling whispers of passersby
while she pressed her faded-ink
sharpie deeper into the cardboard, stranded
on the sidewalk, waiting for passersby to read
“PLEASE HELP. GOD BLESS” – waiting
for selfish signs, untempered egos.

what if i didn’t see the bedframe
the woman nailed together from the footsteps
of girls like me, who never think to watch
where they’re stepping, who never think to help
people like her? who never think which histories
they’re stepping on while heading somewhere
better—the night club spilling drunk teenagers, the levain bakery
filled with chanel-tote girls in tube tops. somewhere
richer, more powerful.

but what if the woman gets up
when I offer her an apple—when she finds
the strength of her younger self, calloused
hands clasping her boston marathon legs, her recipe
for carrot cake, her son’s cherub cheeks. together
they murmur, thank you, thank you.