California Girl

Artichokes she taught me:
a prickly bloom, fleshy at the base;
and petals of which are eaten
one by one,
then the heart divided like a conscience
and, thus, embraced.

She also taught me tacos.
Crisp shells that split
and crumbled as I bit,
so red grease ran
down fingers to the wrist,
and stained my chin.

She gave support
by handing me white napkins.
made of time
the greedy container of pleasure.
She stopped my mind.