I used to imagine
that tasting dark foods
would make me dark like him
chocolate, molasses, or dark wild honey
would make my mother
whip me and lock me in the cellar.
Now I know
that when she tells him to stand behind her chair
while she eats or plays cards
when she tells him to spread his elbows
to shelter her ears
from being bumped by clumsy serving girls
somehow she imagines
that his dark thoughts
have seeped into her thoughts
when really
it is exactly
the opposite.
She is the one
with a mind
that needs light.