Little Deaths on Cherry Street

White houses on cherry street

white moms in blouses cherishing

their children’s feet, green lawns

crow calls, the little raspado man

walks by

pushing his little cart 

dusty sun beams

light up pockets

a Prius prepares

to turn on

Calle Luna

The turn signal 

blinking in and out 

of existence

bouncing here and there

like the strings in our skin

pulling out of each other 

like a universe bouncing around

a dodecahedron, lop-sided

and unsure like you

at junior prom

nervous like your father

particles collecting and dispensing

little deaths bouncing

up and then down

and then up again

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