On the night of the blizzard,
I’m locked in my house
with my mother and her boyfriend.
I used to cry at the sight of his curly brown hair,
but now I am making dinner with a man for the first time:

Just me and him –
My smile real as we cook eggplant parmesan:
First, protecting sliced eggplant
with a coat of flour.
Then, letting the slices sizzle in oil
until they are golden brown on the bottom.

I flip the eggplant over, looking at it as if it
were just born.
Next, he and I spread tomato sacue together
forming a comfortable padding for freshly
sprinkled parmesan cheese.

When dinner’s out of the oven, we sit:
a candle-lit table set for three,
garlic bread made by mother,
salad, pasta, and the main dish made by us.
Outside: two feet of snow.
Inside: three friends with napkins on our laps
passing the salad, twirling separate spaghetti strands into
a bond around our steel forks.