the cotija and corn bits tooth-trapped / in your smile / cardboard box tents, dew-slick grocery carts, / the rooftop hail of oh-my-gawds / that mollywop our skulls as we saunter / past pews of palm trees.

“¿Qué dice?” Mami demanded, / pulling at the coloring book and scented markers pressed to my chest replacing them with today’s mail.

In this city whose name is a tumble of / scree, / I circle old town lanes in search of / something whole, / something holy / and see the pink bedspread, / the potted geranium, / a child’s hung dress / in a house razored open