it costs a dollar twenty five for the drier that leaves your clothes still damp
but the lemons on the tree are perfectly ripe
and the wind chime sounds like
namaste.
though the clouds are thinning
it’s just cool enough for sneakers
and warm enough for tank tops.
gram is in the basement
dad is at the liquor store
and mi madrastra es talking with
the man who rents the apartment upstairs
exchanging recipes
and munching on chicharrones.
today
I live in the Santa Clara slums
and
feel as at home as I did
in the rain.