myhomecooking.net
I remember mama
standing at her
kitchen counter
sorting pinto beans
I wrote poetry
She focused intently
removing little rocks
broken beans, dark ones,
shriveled up ones
I sorted words
One bean at a time
examining the little hard oval
as if it were a diamond
with great delicacy
she would carefully, gently
separate the keepers
from the castoffs
My words sat in little piles
waiting..
I'd say something like,
"ma, just thrown em' in the pot"
she would stop
roll her eyes, sigh
and look at me like
"stupid girl"
I looked under the surface
where poetry is
in the cracks...
Now I stand at my kitchen counter
I watch my hands
doing exactly what she did
These recipes
These poems
Do they make us immortal
Do they make us count
Will we be remembered
Mama
I will pass on
our creations
to my children
to my grandchildren
it is sustenance
it is poetry...
2010 Rozanna Landavazo