Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like mine. Four who do not belong here. Four raggedy excuses planted by the city. (pg. 74)

His feet were fat and doughy like tamales.

My name is the mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings. (pg. 10)

My two shoes waiting beside the bed. (pg. 108)

Nenny, I say, but she doesn't hear me. She is too many light-years away. She is in a world we dont belong to anymore. (pg. 52)

nobody looked up not once the day Angel Vargas learned to fly and dropped from the sky like a sugar donut, just like a falling star, and exploded down to earth without even an "oh". (pg. 30)

Only a house quiet as snow. (pg. 108)

Sally is a girl with eyes like Egypt and nylons the color of smoke. (pg. 81)

She borrows opera records from the public library and sings with velvety lungs powerful as morning glories. (pg. 90)

Sometimes I hear them laughing late, beer cans and cats and the trees talking to themselves: wait, wait, wait. (pg. 73)

The boys and girls live in separate worlds. The boys in their universe and we in ours. (pg. 8)

The boys who do pass by say stupid things like I am in love with those green apples you call eyes. (pg. 27)

The fist annual Tarzan jumping contest. (pg. 22)

The kids bend trees and bounce between cars and dangle upside down from knees and almost break like fancy museum vases you cant replace. (pg. 29)

Today we are Cinderella because our feet fit exactly. (pg. 40)

Two girls raggedy as rats live across the street. (pg. 12)

Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor. (pg. 9)

Windows so small you'd think they were holding their breath. (pg. 4)