Born Bad
(erasure poem, taken from Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street)
Vicky Vargas Mojanoff
I will go to hell most likely,
My mother says.
Because of Lupe.
She was pretty. Dark.
Good to look at.
Swimmer’s legs.
Lupe.
Sick from the disease.
The bones. The bottles.
A thirsty lady,
The swimmer.
Imagine her,
clean,
not bent, not drowning.
Naked.
I don't know who decides to go bad.
There was no evil in her.
Wicked
was
me.
It could be true,
or maybe
the story that she think,
But I think
In her funny felt
one hand
in the other.
Sometimes you get used to the sick,
and the sickness.
This is how it was,
and this is why I think
it was me.
You had to pick somebody.