She had bay windows in her room
Windowsills sewn together at
The seams by empty jam jars
Full of dead fire flies
laying like bones at the bottom.
We waited together
Under the windows—peering out
Spying on the neighbors.
Tell me stories, we’d say to
each other and she’d
pull my head into the
crook of her elbow like a baby.
Look out the window, follow me
down the street.
Telephone wires above our heads
cutting open the sky.
Pass the café hands clapped
Together, our sweat pulsing
Between our palms in our
Finger prints as we watch
The old Latino men smoke their cigars
and crouch like squatting houses
under the brims of their hats.
The mango and guava stands
scream sweet flavors
at us with their mouths
full of a pit, covered by
a colorful rind.
The homeless man at the corner
who has melted into the
side at the leather brown
smelly garbage can
drops his white Styrofoam
cup on my foot
pennies and nickels falling under
the tongue of my shoe.
We help him then crawl back
through the windows of
her room and tell stories again.