Monday, October 17, 2011

Blanca

Blanca sits on the bleachers
of her cholo's basketball game,
men's D-league.
Thursday night.
She sits
between two brown-eyed babies,
Blanca,
a baby herself.

Blanca,
toenails red,
black stilettos.
No ring on her finger.

She's the same as she was
in eighth grade English:
liquid eyeliner on her lids
full lips
long legs.

Blanca,
then,
talking and laughing during Anne Frank.
Getting referrals to the dean.
Getting detention.

Blanca,
then,
in short, swishy skirts.
Popping gum in the hallway:
"An' I tell him, if he gonna treat me that way, uh uh."

She's the same as she was,
only different, now, too.
The fire in her eyes,
gone,
even when her cholo dunks.

Blanca,
now,
in a too-tight pea coat,
tied hard around her.
Now,
with sippy cups,
with binkies and bills,
and after the two, with birth control.
Dios knows the cholo isn't worried about that.

Blanca,
checking outside the gym.
Where did they go, those babies?
Where did they disappear?
Blanca,
finding them again.

She sits in the bleachers,
center-left,
by the open door.
While her cholo drives the ball down,
right into the White Team,
fouls.

She sits.
Her babies,
talking,laughing, outside.
She sits,
checking her phone,
waiting.
She doesn't know for what.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

OMG Jennie, did you write that poem? So stirring, so disturbing, so TRUE! I'll be thinking about it all day.
Just the impression writers are supposed to give their readers.
Congrats.
Carol

Jennie Englund said...

Hi Carol!

Yes, I wrote that last spring while watching my husband play bball at the Santos Center.

There she was: "Blanca."

It is sad, disturbing. Is there hope?

Thank you for reading!!!

Catherine Denton said...

Jennie, good to see you too! :D This poem was incredibly moving. My heart aches for Blanca.
Hugs, Catherine Denton

Anonymous said...

Intense and moving--very nicely done! You capture her voice and life so vividly, we can watch and feel as if we are right there.
Will keep checking this blog ;-)!

From another writer/reader/teacher/mom (who is also your Dad's friend's "Baby Sister."