Sunstruck While Chopping Cotton

By José Montoya

It was at first a single image.

A mirage-like illusional dance

Wavering and decomposing in the

Distance like a plastic mosaic.

Then it cleared.

Not one but three Bothisattvas

Suspended in a cloud of yellow dust

Just above the rows of cotton

Galloping comically on skeletal mounts

Across the arid, sponge-like lust

Of a desiccated desert.

They ride by, shouting in ruthless unison

The name of Jesus, across the valley

Halting not for an instant in their trek

To the distant sea.

The cool sea.

With flame throwers for nostrils

Their horses flee

Abreast the three

Halting whole freeways of awe-stricken traffic

And scattering chattering choppers

Welcoming the enormous episode as an excuse

For frolic and fanfare.

They enter the sea and immediately get

Cut down by surf boards sharp as razors

And oil-well derricks entangle them

And the horses, not being divine, drown.

And the Bothisattvas, mountless in the mire

Choke and struggle, making the Long Beach

Waters thick with blood, mud and crude oil.

But they are determined, and they walk

Nimbly and bloodied on the cracked-mirror

Surface with all the humility of the East

Then they forget and break into a run

Leaving bloodied footprints upon the blue waters,

Running, running, toward the setting sun.

Shouting, Jesus saves!

In ruthless unison.

Copyright Credit: José Montoya, "Sunstruck While Chopping Cotton" from Information: 20 Years Of Joda. Copyright © 1992 by José Montoya. Reprinted by permission of Chusma House Publications.