she podcasted me up
from LA with a cackle
and a pause,
as if to consider.
I listened
with dumb heart
between Delaware
and nowhere.
nothing was said
of the night on the porch,
somewhere near Silver Lake,
just absent talk of my book.
the whole thing
gave me more
than she did back then,
mutual famous friends.
what version
of ourselves
do we see
when others tell the tales?
shadows on a tiger's belly
all look different
depending on how
the beast is eating you.