People, Places and Things On Both Sides of The Progreso International Bridge
the rio grande, toy trees, lechuzas, the border wall, cows,
a haunted fort converted into a haunted high school, border patrol
lunch breaks in mexican restaurants, progreso texas, nuevo
progreso mexico, helicopter night searches, goats, burning sugar
cane fields, treeless ditches, lowriders, chupacabras, the school
named after the white woman that struck grandma’s hands for
speaking spanish, the ranchos, pescado entero frito, the cops
that arrested dad for drunk horseback riding, curas del susto, rain
brought by hung snakes, day trips over the bridge into mexico, for
mexican medicine, mexican food, the mexican dentist, mexican
haircuts, mexican pedicures, vaqueros, visiting abuelo at the
rancho, gritos, holy incense, day drunk old white men crossing
the bridge, tire swings, tacos de tripas, new years gunshots,
a possessed ranch where the devil danced on the roof of
a church, grandma’s house, abuela’s house, abuelita’s house,
mami’s and papi’s house, hair spray scented salons, campsites
on the mexican bridge of the ukrainian russian siberian
immigrants seeking asylum from the wars, the white americans
buying souvenirs, beat up pickup trucks, smoky taco streets,
the chain link fences installed on the bridge in 2022 when the
colombian immigrants arrived at the border, mexican people
buried in american cemeteries, abuelo being too old to swim, too
old to live alone, too mexican to cross, mexican dogs becoming
american, piñata corpses, damp soil, military tanks on mexican
streets, sombreros, virgencita necklaces, a headless chicken,
a walking carcass, caldo de pollo matado, novelas, warmth of
gorditas de azucar, pierced baby girl ears, milanesa, tejano
music, a cemetery family picnic, la llorona, the mexican mexican
restaurants, the american mexican restaurants, the mexicans that
own them, honeyed agua de piña, the pulga, abuela’s marriage,
wooden flute songs, gutted peaches, border patrol trashing fresh
fruit, sneak two whole guavas over the border in a purse, the
mexican mexicans, their mexican american children, getting
stopped by the cartel on the way to mami’s funeral, pork pets,
a slaughter, an ice chest with pig parts, chicharron, a feast,
planes spraying pink pesticides, abuela sacrificing her waist
length hair at the basilica, gold plated name bracelets, a mother
a father a child outside the house, asking to come in, laws
against aiding, dad’s fragile immigrant status, police car down
the street, fear, give them water and food, pray they’ll be okay,
the word illegal to describe someone, ghosts, corn husk prayers,
intersection graveyards, abuelo will never come to the weddings,
horses, post wedding brunch in mexico, curses, grief, blood,
quinceaneras, superstitions.
God-fearing Mexicans love superstitions and hate brujeria
my abuela frowns at the word brujeria my grandma keeps a hundred dollar bill
to explain the superstitions, quirks and practices rolled tightly under the belly of a plastic sheep
followed by her, her mother, and her mother’s mother hung on the inside of her front
door
my grandma scoffs at the word brujeria never to be spent so money will
flow
rolling her eyes to the bloody history and facts of the past and flood empty pocketed fears
my abuela hangs dead snakes her son douses live snakes in gasoline
open-mouthed and tail up and sets them ablaze
on the porch to tempt the rain clouds raw dancing as they coil in pain
she hesitates to talk about her indigenous roots the stench sends a warning to the other snakes
burdened by conquistador catholic quilt stay away
my abuela does not cut her hair my abuelo saved all our ruined toys
but once she sacrificed her roots in church broken dolls with bulging eyes
she begged for her daughter to be free of cancer hung like ornaments in the branches of the toy tree
her braid was cut and from the choppy ends to keep the spirits at bay
was born an angel to avenge his own isla de las
muñecas
his son draws an invisible cross my abuela heals her children from unseen burdens
on the windshield of his car chanting prayers and brushing their skin
once for every person trapped inside with palm leaves in the dead of night
if his drunken haze drives him into a tree the fragrance leaves a taste on the tongue
hopefully his fake faith will save him foggy dreams star a ghost nun
or his children at least in the morning the leaves are burnt
because it was never a dream
only reality
16 de Septiembre
The photograph is green.
The grass is green in the
overgrown garden,
where the marble Guadalupe
statue stands facing
away from me.
I am wearing green
and red and white.
A layered dress with green
off the shoulder ruffles and ribbons
braided through my hair. .
I am mid-turn in the photo,
and my eyes are focused
on the green ground.
(I am looking at one year old me
wearing a costume
made of itchy material
mimicking the pattern
of the Mexican flag
on Independence Day
I don’t know,
if I have the right
to adorn myself in the
colors of the country
I was not born in
but whoever dressed me
thought so once; they gave it to me
raised me in it
a country; a home
but the Virgin, mother
of the people, has her back to me
as if to tell me,
I am a foreigner
looking in)
Victoria Garcia
Victoria Garcia is a Mexican-American from Progreso, Texas. Victoria recently graduated from Texas State University with her bachelor’s degree in English and returned for her MFA in poetry. Victoria’s poetry is centered around growing up in a border town as a Mexican-American of immigrant descent.
You can find me on social media @victoria23garc on Instagram and X, formerly known as Twitter.
