by Isabella Cruz
Cadillac parked down Arroyo Seco
Garcinia whittled waists, pom poms in the air,
Their shadows indecipherable, messages lost
In the blinking of headlights.
Wheelchair forgotten in their dusty wake,
Metal teeth scraped against enamel–
Immaculate and whiter than Verrie’s wedding dress–
Remembrances coursing like gas.
Pumped into the Caddie on Arroyo Seco,
Which sits in the garage of some
Suburban moderate’s dreamscape.
Isabella Cruz is a writer, an educator and a Floridian. She currently works as a writing tutor. Her works have appeared in World Enough Writers, Wigleaf and Barstow & Grand. She enjoys tea and people watching.
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