Sunday Mexican Market, Phoenix

Ranch Mexican Market

Balanced between banana leaves
and Jamaica drying in bins like small,
netted squids I remember
the guts it took to kiss you.
I was 18 years old
not even drunk
rushing up your neck like a little girl
through summer sprinklers –
my polka dot bathing suit instantly wet.

What a rush. Hold my hand.
Let’s ride this tortilla machine
like a Ferris wheel
and when we reach the top, tuck me under your arm.
I’ll toss all the needles I’ve kept over the years
ensuring our stitches stuck.

Love is no longer handcuffed.
Not chain link, but rain honoring gravity
Not wire, but tide pushing back, in
Science makes believers of us.

My Cousteau. We explore this Mexican
grocery store,
knowing all at once life’s endless possibilities
hot seeds, love me in the ancho chilies
then chill me with your green-eyed limes.

Above us, piñatas hang like prom night stars
I want to take a bat to every single one,
let the sweetness down.
We’ve done all the rides, I want to give you
something to hold.

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