Griselda Suarez

Abuelita’s cocina

El sol burns the earth and makes the cobbled path hot

I sit at the table-Room for six, sink and stove

Its sunlit walls blind me and once green door, older than I welcome

Roasted red chile peppers and salt in stone mortar –

molcajete centerpiece

Skin sticks to plastic covered chairs and couches

A diaphanous cloud of smoke hovers en la cocina

Crackles and snaps of lard sauté on the casuela

My fingers like clothespins over my nostrils

Vacas graze the brittle grass plains

Passing by the window coming home to la casa de adobe

Wait for abuelita frying manteca beans to stand by me

Sweet grass braids of plata down her back

Celestial blue silk reboso with the estrellas around her dry -clay

face.  Orange blossoms bouquets out of her pores.

Ode to My Ancestors

Blood travels to Mictlan

past veils of our Mother’s

entraňas

into desert of reclaimed

footsteps

Sitting on a sun-dried chair

smoking mirror

cheap tobacco

guardian of our house

general of manteca

skin-colored coffee

releasing steam

gazing at thirst desert plains

rain falls

greeting her storm

Tall mango tree

standing on land of lakes

zempasuchitl fields in your pupils

deer eyes

revolución arms at hip

pan fingers

leche teeth

ride spirit horse

at morning eye

rub Spaniard stubble

tickling fawn cheeks

Woven hair of butterfly silk

piel dipped in mole

gold smiles dangle your lobes

listening to brewing pot

breathing

fire to comal

palms conceives corn meal

spanked into tortilla worlds

Feathers hide under your reboso

taking flight in dreams

metate hands build sweet cakes

blend herbs from bosom garden

heal hemorrhage of bordered land

womb thrice emptied

thirteen breads rose in your oven

Paloma songtress

keeping our song

beating