I wanted to be like you, Lady
like your kitchen's homemade light
like your words--they drip with henna--
staining things in red and white.
your productivity is true
like the knife inside your hand
like the edging on your skirt
like your finger's wedding band.
I wanted you to call me friend
if I could not be you, yourself
I wanted to produce your Glory--
maybe, to ingest your health.
Like the dogs beneath your table
Clean the crumb--would that be nice?
I'm satisfied to mirror, Lady
dim reflection would suffice