I remember Sundays

          By: Mylinh Nguyen

I remember Sunday mornings at seven

Time to wake up and get ready for school 

Most kids would be asleep, but not this girl

Showered first, to ensure that moma woke

Somehow late, we all rushed to the car.

I remember walking to the class room

being the first one there, with minutes to

spare. You woulda thought that I was the last.

I remember white shirt and black long pants.

Blue scarf with “La Vang” right in the middle

Around your neck, or sister would have been

mad and sent you home. Only a girl’s dream.

We all knew that getting sent home was a

bad thing. Bamboos would have been in your butt.

I remember heads bobbing down at eight

everyone looked like dead zombies but one.

She was a know it all and no one was

a fan. Hands always in the air, waving

swinging, to get the sister’s attention.

I remember sister calling on us

when she saw a bobble. Uh oh trouble.

Standing tall we recite a prayer loud,

One word wrong and you could have been uh-gone.

She was no angle, more like the devil.

I remember souls being awake at

noon. 10 minute break and then back at it.

This time it wasn’t so bad, one hour

and my favorite time is here, fun and lunch!

I remember hearing the bell, we all

rush to the door, with elbows fighting back.

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I Remember Lotería

BY JACOB SAENZ

I remember nights of playing

Lotería w/Mom & Big Manny

as a way to learn the Spanish they spoke

to each other but not to their kids

who caught on to certain words

like cállate, cerveza, chicharrón;

little nuggets I ate up

like the pinto beans we used

instead of the blue chips

Mom kept in her Bingo bag

she carried every Friday night

when her & Tia Shirley

went to the Moose Lodge,

her hair & coat reeking

w/the smoke of all who lost.

    

I remember El Borracho,

the man always holding a bottle

& about to fall over yet never does

like Big Manny stumbling home

late at night after a payday,

breath & belly full of beer,

who one time took a piss

in our bedroom.

I remember La Garza,

not for the heron it is

but cousin Tony & his kids,

nights of sleepovers & pizza,

PlayStation on a 40-inch TV,

the night he & Lil Jesse sneaked

bumps of coke in the bathroom

& I rubbed numb my teenage teeth.

I remember El Musico,

not the chubby man clutching his guitarra

but my brother Dave loading crates

of records & a dual turntable case

like a coffin into the back of a van,

the same set I hit my back on at ten

when I fell out of the top bunk bed.

But I prefer to remember La Sirena

back when her breasts were free

of the seashells she now holds

to cover them in water so blue

cold, her scales so red,

her name clung to the tongue

like dulce de leche.