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a jeweled delusion that took the whole side / of the house by the basketball hoop safe to say all / my childhood I came in the back door spinning 

Every house I passed looked like anywhere I’d want to live. I wanted / and wanted: a house, a family, a house, a family, 

:: one month of gap coverage  ::  can’t be sick / in August  ::  can’t be this tired today  ::  can’t be poor ever  ::

Go to a llantero Uncle Junior would trust. Never go to the dealership. Never pay full / price for anything. If you do, you should love it.

Us, less scared of La Jura, more scared of her— / only one we knew could square up and make even

Are they on a mission, do they have a purpose, / are they trying to do anything specific at all? Are they on the edge of a cliff or / are they on stable footing?

driving cocodrilos and crocodiles to market / found milk instead of miracles

There: / the ghost of a hand / drowning / in a brown wave.

When they lose their leaves, I can see the crow / calling his friends to tell them I’m awake which means their daily peanuts / will soon arrive on a stump.

The Rumpus, in partnership with Milkweed Editions, is pleased to preview this anthology with poems from Paul Tran, Cecily Parks, and Erika Meitner.

& the fishmonger washes his hands / of the morning’s catch. Kids are away