Making Salteñas

1 July 2009

There's something real about working

flour with naked hands--

more sensitive than any pastry knife, my fingers

blend more naturally than stainless steel.

Water and flour become cool,

pliant dough against my skin.

Given my mother's unused kitchen,

we could have mixed the dough in half the time,

reduced the strengthening on our forearms,

the time spent learning where my sister-in-law

learned to make salteñas and empanadas.

We laid a foundation

and I asked where the napkins were kept:

"En la puerta."

"...the door? In the door? Oh, the Pantry!"

"Si! En la puerta."

...

"...Where? ...um... Donde?"

"Abajo."

"Abajo?"

"A-BA-jo..." A slight nod toward the floor

"OH! Abajo!"

She opened la puerta to the language of her heart,

and all because we took the long way around.

Damascus

12 June 2009

Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith.

Light comes through the slats,

sometimes subtle, sometimes

keen--then the shutters cut like Damascus

steel through butter. The light

comes regardless of pallor or intensity--

a dozen curtains couldn’t block the cumulative

kinetic energy of the sun’s arms winding through

space, bouncing off the moon and the atmosphere,

making their way to my window, melting

into a bright and beautiful pool at my feet.

The Straw Man

12 June 2009

Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith.

I still forget sometimes

especially when the Straw Man comes,

sets flame to all the arguments

I learned to keep me sane back then.

I must remember these arguments

do not serve except to train my mind

in another vein, prepare me to receive

another Truth, higher than any

proposition he could offer

that would have had me running ‘round

in circular arguments I couldn’t win,

even to save myself from the flames.