The boy in the house with the blue
door buys nail polish at the corner store,
says "it's for my sister" and secretly uses it
late at night, marveling at the sight, careful to
remove it before the bus rolls down his street.
It makes him feel whole,
this innocent little secret that
is a simple understanding of color
yet feels forbidden in the eyes of others.
He's a child who finds joy when
it's not present elsewhere,
and I'm honored, that recently,
he's shared this with me.
As I water the house plants and feed
the fish and bake cookies for him,
he trusts me to love and accept this part
of him, the way his mother never could.
