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.