the blueshift journal
blueshift / ˈblo͞oˌSHift / noun
the displacement of the spectrum to shorter wavelengths in the light coming from distant celestial objects moving toward the observer.
padre: side a
i dream that you might come to me luminous in the night––you: tendrils of light to turn my hair yellow in places, me: fast asleep and unmoving. i dream that you might come to me gracelessly, a heap of dirty clothing hung from the border-fence's barbed wire as american flag. i dream that you might die a prophet while making the trek from tijuana to san diego. i dream you a laurel of blood and honeysuckle and christen you anew when you climb through my bedroom window. tonight your name is oscar and i am your only daughter. tomorrow you will scale new borders and birth a second in tender sin. you will name her god of plenty. someday, you say, a new brown man will supplant this body and your mouth will know the real meaning of father. for now, i know only you––one scar for each way. i know you as i watch the barber's razor caress your scalp. i know you as i watch you wring the sweat from your uniform at the laundromat. i even know you when your palm cracks against my step-mother's cheek. i know you especially then.
father: side b
you're catholic like the one before you. i know because you touch brown knuckles to flesh as we pass burning churches. you never notice the ones that are not on fire. there are no daughters in catholicism but you claim i am yours. we drive past groves of avocado trees and you say, there is a kind of paradise. you say that often––while watching your mother beat tortillas into the table, while listening to al green's "let's stay together" on an endless loop, while counting each of your son's eyelashes. to take god into your mouth is the greatest show of respect, you tell me, then demonstrate. to pour your best whiskey into the holy well in libation, first from the bottle, then straight from the throat. to paint your walls pink and seek out warmth in a white woman. you say: the only way to get to know mexico's oceans is while barefoot and filled with benediction. that's how i met my first father and second god––arms wide open as i approached his yawning maw.