May we wrap in tanoor bread our enemies swirl/ them in date molasses scoops of sesame paste / may we fill their bellies, stuff them in fact / like leaves of chard

I trace your brow ridge, / how it is mine and how it is not / and think how years from now / you will drift / down Holt Avenue plastered, and appear / in daydreams– making homes of sofas.

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.