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63 BeTTer Homes Under the scarred palo verde on the playground at mother of sorrows in bare dirt between goatheads we dragged scuffed heels, scraping up houses, places we’d rather live. Bean pods rattled among white spikes, green lizard bark. patio, carport, bedroom, kitchen, driveway, hallway, private bath. all the rooms of our living we dug in. Damn! Don’t walk through my walls! You cussed. I’m telling. Go ahead. Just proves you’re too little. we built our houses on powder, on dirt uncommitted to any one place, dream homes that lasted days, moments, hours. we heard 64 before we saw dust devils whooshing, ducked into postures every desert kid knows— squat on heels, face buried in elbow, eyes squinched tight against the grit, sharp dirt stinging bare skin— dust devils ripped over under around and through, erasing every door, every window, howling like divorce. ...

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