Sometimes

She surprises me. 

I often feel the bottom of her heel  

dig mercilessly into my mind. 

Never a mutual  grappling 

of how to mesh  stark contrast 

differences and languages taught 

young. 

But somehow neither of us 

are very fluent in the other’s 

native tongue? 

I sometimes forget I lived  

almost a full year under her heart. 

I didn’t ask for it. 

But I don’t think she really did either?

Sometimes my muse for poems. 

Always and forever 

my maker  

and the girl 

I share a face with. 

I love her most  

when I’m not hating her guts.