My mother taught me the rhythm of life
To the beat of a palote
On the kitchen counter
Pas!
Roll
Roll
Turn
Making tortillas fresh
Without a measuring cup
With flour and boiling water
Love and soda de martillo
Covering the harina with a wet towel
Letting it sit
Then tearing off the precise amount of dough
And working it with her hands
Before putting it down and
Pas!
Roll
Roll
Turn
Pas!
Roll
Roll
Turn
The tortilla on the comal got shocked by the heat
Tssss
She knew just when to flip it
And she never used a spatula
If it started to puff
She'd quickly turn it over
Tssss
And stare it down until the tortilla calmed down
Tortillas in my mom's kitchen didn't get out of line
They came out perfectly imperfectly round
And they never cracked under pressure.
My mother taught me the rhythm of life
To the beat of a palote
Pas! Life hits you
But you roll and roll and turn
Until it hits you again
And you roll and roll and turn again
The comal
Changes you
Sears you
Transforms you into what you're meant to be
In the end you come out ready for a new challenge
Having been prepared by the strongest, gentlest of hands
You keep writing, too. :-)
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