North American Culture

(When the partners
tower over me
and stand too close,
I just want to run.)

Forty years ago
I sat with Elizabeth
at her parents' table
and made unacceptable statments
because I had come
from the wrong place.
It was dark in the room
and we were surrounded by
glistening things in
glass cabinets and deep brown wood.
Elizabeth examined me
without special sympathy.
I was failing all the tests.
But her hands were like
hot magic.

Last night I was a citizen
at another Elizabeth's table,
every bit English.
We dined on glazed salmon,
nothing fancy. I had been
wearing the wrong T-shirt
and my pants were rolled up.
It was the chaotic appearence of the unschooled.
She tells me what I should wear.
We laugh as she guides me through the store
I never knew before.