The dessert buffet thief, sequin purses,
and crayon hieroglyphs--

My mother taught me I was a 
buffet thief.
When I got back to
our blue station wagon
from Moselem Springs
breakfast buffet I had a
sequin purse full
of peanut butter cookies--
scooped crumbs from the zipper
and licked the sugar granules
from my palms and buttery
dust from under my nails--
I wasn't very good at practicing 
to be a LADY-- I was never
meant for flowery hats or white
gloves-- I took off my shoes and
hid them under the pews at church 
So I could feel God on the cold
tile floor-- 
My mother told me
I was sneaky 
and that was what worried her.
I was wearing a dress printed
with purple flowers--
wedding cake white shoes made of
marzipan and dinner plates-- 
Have you ever dropped a communion wafer?
Have you ever dropped God?--
I know you have you can tell me--
You can tell me if you steal 
from dessert buffets too--
I've never been able to stop
even though we always went after church--
God kept a track of all the Andes 
Mints I stuffed in my gloves--
tally marks written in blue crayon
on the back of another paper place-mat--
I harbored German Chocolate cake squares--
purloined from their perches on 
tiny dishes.
The cake squished between birthday dollar
bills in my purse-- this is
how we teach girls how
to be LADYS-- about how to eat from
tiny plates and coil
into flowery hats--
into Sunday brunch--keep
your butter and sugar and peanut
butter tucked away where they
can't see it behind the sequins
and eat cake from a back
seat with your finger nails--
I wrote letters on the backs
of the paper place-mats
in four-packs of crayon--
red--green--yellow--blue-- 
Red like strawberry cheesecake 
veiled in napkins--
Green hard candies from the 
bowl outside the bathroom--
Yellow frosting flowers 
to stain my white shoes
Blue berry tart bleeding 
through my zippers-- there
isn't enough room in a purse to 
eat everything--
I admit I dropped a communion wafer
once and I didn't pick it
up off the cold tile floor right
away-- I thought about
my feet on the floor
and the body on the floor and 
the minister scowled
as a I keeled to scoop
him back up-- eat sneaky 
like a peanut butter cookie
only tasting like air-- 
steal God from gold plates 
and hidden in sequin purses--
my bare feet on the tile floor
and my mother telling
me to put my shoes back on--
I wrote letters to the waiters
in blue crayon only I didn't use
words-- I drew purple flowers 
and peanut butter cookies 
and the spiral, spiral, spiral
of a pinwheel peppermints--
It doesn't matter if they read them
because the most important thing
to do with our mouths
is to let them be written
even if we eat from back seats--
yes mother I'm sneaky--
and I pick up God off the floor
of the church next to my bare feet--
I wasn't meant for marzipan shoes
and my purses are still full
of stolen peanut butter cookies--
I'm a crumb queen-- a goddess
of butter stain-- what is a LADY
but a white table clothe 
and a empty purse-- I don't go
to the buffet to worship God--
that's what I use a tile floor
for-- I go to the buffet to
unzip my mouth and leave with all 
the red and white mints-- breath
winter like a cigarette--
Make my own hymnals on the paper
place-mats for the waiters to sing
when they notice I'd taken the whole
dessert table for myself--
I've made this sequin purse
into a rib cage to hide all the sugar
I've been missing.
Yes, mother I'm sneaky.
Yes, father I write purple flowers
and walk barefoot through buffets--
I don't fit on small plates
and don't try to tell me
I'm all you can eat--