Resin pellets spark
clouds inside the airport chapel
& a priest marks time,
swinging the copal boat’s chain.
Inside me, a baby.
We’ve fallen into a void so I count.
Coin droppings in the rusted box & jet
roars gauge how long. A yellow-black & red-
toothed woman hobbles
up & down pews selling grilled
cobs & smiles. I hide from the shrine’s
balcony where the closed-eyed faithful
pray in delirium.
The aromatic fog doesn’t insulate
shapes pushing through chapel doors
& we’re found.
M.L. Vargas is a writer, educator and serves as poetry editor for Aster(ix) Journal. She was appointed poet in residence for the Montclair Art Museum (MAM) in 2014. Her work has appeared in various journals and anthologies, most recently The Lake Rises: poems to & for our bodies of water. She holds an MFA in poetry from Drew University and lives in New Jersey.