The houses were burning and we could hear the wail of sirens as fire trucks raced past us. My sister, on her way home, saw the black clouds from far away and felt her heart leap to her throat. We stood before the television, watching the flames. Then I fixed myself a bowl of champorado and cold milk.
A Little Tooth
Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It’s all
over: she’ll learn some words, she’ll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,
your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
are sore. It’s dusk. Your daughter’s tall.