our first fight

we have our first fight.

she tells

me to take my feet off the coffee table.

i tell her.

and you think you're

perfect, don't you?

i'm just saying

your shoes are dirty and i don't

want you to scratch

my coffee table.

my grandmother gave me that

table.

she brought it over with her

to Ellis Island.

a coffee table?

she brought her coffee table

over from Italy?
carried it on her back?

she hits my leg with a rolled

up magazine.

Martha Stewart.

off, she says loudly.,

reluctantly i move my shoe

off the table.

i give in. i don't want this to

escalate any further.

happy? i ask her.

no, she says. i'm not. but

thank you for moving your feet.

she gets a rag and wipes

the area where my boot was.

it's going to be a long weekend.