It begins with streamers
weeping from the ceiling
when a pop! leaves a balloon
in bits and a cat’s tail peeping
from under a couch. A newborn
stirs downstairs. An older sister
excuses herself, a younger one
cusses as she breaks a chip
in the salsa. Ya viene la lluvia,
a grandmother says to the kids
chasing an old dog beneath fresh
leaffall, in front of a fence wearing
cardboard letters that will fall
apart by morning. A thunder
laden sky, grey hooks lowering
over a birthday you realize now
is yours. A blue ribbon in your hand
from a present you won’t remember.
Someone hits the lights and
estas son las mañanitas begins
in your mother’s voice and from
the kitchen carries in her arms a blaze
of candles you cannot finish counting.
