the craziness begins when mom stops buying nabisco social teas
early summers all look the same
in second rate auburndale*
but not the summer
carmen calli, wearing a lacey dress and
veiled hat, walks thru their tiny trellised garden
on her way to ‘our lady of the most blessed sacrament’
she lost her baby, neighbors said, while
the loganberry trees, dripping sweetness like
blood, cover the potholed streets where we live
in two family houses
scenting the afternoon that smacks
against us, honeysuckle mixes w/ adults
nets of crickets and bees, that buzz the berries
we stuff in our mouths
thicken, as heat swipes the fallen
fruit grinding into a mat of purple pulp
and skin, and we play
‘a, my name is alice…’ w/Spaulding ‘hi bouncers’
and carmen calli waits for another baby