By Kimberly Vargas
Broken white crackers
Lay my sweater on a wooden pew
upholstery circa-1950
if the AC gets too cold, I’ll button the wool
Across the aisle, my boyfriend pulls his mother’s whispers
into his ears: “Do you really think it’s a good idea to date a girl
from a broken home?”
Outside the window and across the shoulder
of the highway, wild oats straggle
amongst Fresno heat, exhaust and gravel
Inside my eye lids, I beg God
Please save Mama so we can be a good Christian family
Silver trays hold broken white crackers—
“This is my body.”
Without looking at the whites of each other’s eyes
my boyfriend, his mother
and I
chew
Gentle Voices Questioning
What was that you wanted to know?
I guess the sky was a pale blue
like the scrubs the hygienist always wears over her white turtleneck
when she cleans your teeth.
At least that’s what I remember,
coasting home after teaching seventh and eighth graders all day…
The way the white and turquoise colors
pressed above the dash of my car
The talk show host and the guy who just called in—
Liberals and Conservatives arguing, demanding answers
No one saying enough
Everyone talking too much
A global warming bumper sticker lunging too close
to the grill of that really big truck two lanes over
Both going too fast
and then not fast enough
Screeching,
tires and headlights swerving
The four-wheel drive
breaking all the rules in my head—
slashing across dotted lines
Smashing expectations into perpendicular questions
What do I do / how long before it hits / how bad is it going to hurt /
am I about to see Jesus / what about my children /
why
Gray, spinning black…
The hands of a nurse just off her shift.
A policeman, silencing the radio
Gentle voices questioning,
“Are you okay?”
Lifting my eyes to where traffic parted without a sound of a siren
to where cornflowers grow on the side of the road
like white clouds in a blue sky
I look at the faces of heaven
from my stretcher
Ignore Goliath
Ignore the pitch of the wind
whining, rising;
the steering wheel, grimy
from who-knows-how-many sunrises and Egg McMuffins
sheer will has gulped down.
Look! Through the windshield,
an unmanageable patch of raindrops quiver,
eating the sun as it rises—
bellies full of light,
speckling the glass gray and white and gold.
The road is before you.
Shove the banter
of what you should have and couldn’t and didn’t do
behind.
Let yourself be loved,
feel the sun, watch the rain.
The pulse of Goliath will
drip amidst grass blades
whether or not you tend to it.
But as for you, my friend,
choose your battles well.
A Mexican-American poet residing in Fresno, CA, Kimberly Vargas Agnese loves walking barefoot and spending time outdoors. She believes that the sacred is as close as a human’s breath and enjoys playing the Native American flute. To read more of Kimberly’s work, please visit www.bucketsonabarefootbeach.com.