Front Yard

Deep cracks and ridges

in the brownie tree

hold the smell of Bud Light

and the sound of Linda Ronstadt.

 

Sturdy branches are imprinted

with giggled handprints of playful screams,

and footprints of tios holding piñatas.

 

Roots grab deep into the ground

of my ancestors and lost pets,

keeping my buried toys and old shoes.

 

We left our pieces in the front yard,

in the brownie tree.

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