ashley Archuleta

Ashley Archuleta’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in the Amethyst Press anthology Thin Places & Sacred Spaces, Ekstasis, Catholic Arts Today, Clayjar Review, The Windhover, and others. She was the first-place winner of the Catholic Literary Arts (CLA) Advent Writing Contest in 2020 and a finalist in the CLA Sacred Poetry Contest in 2023. She lives in Texas with her husband and two young children.

Unless I Become Like My Rampaging Toddler

who rides her father’s shoulders, fearless,

leaning backwards, hair splayed, face upturned

to the mosaic of blue sky and limbs of live oak,

arms spread-eagle, as if to return the tree’s

leaning embrace; who trespasses the wire fence

to chase red-eared sliders, shells algae-forested

and feet stretched to bask in the summer sun;

who cries duck at every grackle, jay, and dove;

who races through our one-bedroom apartment,

cartwheels around the corner, knocks a crucifix

to the ground—pauses—picks up her King,

chants baby, baby and dumps Him in her stroller,

takes Him for a spin; who collects flower buds,

half-withered, and topless acorns and rocks

sparkling with veins of mica; who stretches

to feel all things feathered, flowered, and free;

who, at Low Mass on Tuesday afternoon, chews

my rosary, scales my ribs with tiny stabbing toes,

pulls my ponytail, laughs at grave parishioners

on knee, plays peek-a-boo, lifts high her snack

as the priest lifts the Host, clamps a star-shaped

puff between her teeth, interrupts solemn silence

with delighted shrieks; who shouts wow

when the lights turn on, when the breeze picks up,

when a flock of pigeons erupts, every wing synchronized;

who raises fists of woodchips and leaves to eager lips,

communes with everything ageless and untamed—

I shall not taste joy; I shall not taste joy.

Read more of Ashley’s work in Solum Journal Volume V: Legacy.