Culture Clash
Heidi Joy Resnick
Tu mama me mira con
Those dark brown eyes,
piercing through my translucent skin,
through my empty gold cross,
to the marrow of my Anglo soul.
Tu mama me mira,
with crossed arms and strumming pink fingernails
perched on her worn plaid throne;
her crucifix shimmers in the dim light
aainst her coffee skin; she moves the gold clasp
to the nape of her neck, and drops Jesus
near her heart, between her breasts.
Tu mama me mira,
with a half smile, the kind that hurts to
give and to receive.
The air is tight in el cuarto de familia,
where Mary's veiled head bows,
and Jesus shares His Last Supper with friends,
and family pictures cover the wall with
graduations, weddings, and granddaughters.
Tu mama me mira,
with the Bible open on the dark walnut table:
Matthew 5:32: Thou shalt not Divorce.
Doomed to wear the scarlet A,
she sees in me not a child of God,
but a corrupter of her familia preciosa,
a temptress to her only Nino.
Her heart breaks, her fingers ache
from working garnet Rosary beads
and shouting silent prayers to God.
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