When you really know a foreign language, you think in it. Idioms, turns of phrase, mannerisms. Words make sentences, but now they’re ideas. New ways of thinking. You learn to pout and please in a gesture. Doors slide open, as spring licks your manicured toes. Ruffles now become you; what the hell, so does a coral flower in your hair–and it has never been your color. You’ve got moves now, that went dormant. Someone found them, blew off the slump, revealing a bare shoulder, and a grin. Flirt.
I know spanglish, but the closest I come to thinking it is pondering those Latina gold bangles.

Last night I dreamed European. I awoke; had a cafe o lait, and wore open-toed heels to the dog park. Crazy? No, just a new way of thinking. And coral is so my color.