examine handsome pork & note the vulnerabilities
the ear’s blush, the feet’s foggy tendons,
the ruby pierna’s coat of grasa,
a lightning of white cartilage.
strip the gummy fat & know
what must be made bare
place them all in la olla with streaks of coaled tears
full of agua herviendo.
what is any sabor but a flesh boiled
until clouds of loam float
to the water’s screaming surface
like souls to rapture?
skim the sputtering espuma. add ajos, onion, salt, bullion,
whatever may grace throat & stomach
with wax-thick broth.
a recipe is a litany
of what has nourished
the history of your becoming.
stir so nothing sinks & sticks
open latas of white hominy, handwash them
like spilled teeth, like nascent pearls,
like orbs of wisdom
from the dead.
continue boiling. continue waiting. continue living.
remove what can no longer give: cebolla, garlic, doubt.
add bay leaf. add oregano. add what cannot be said.
taste this labor. taste what’s been tasted before you,
what has provided clarity beyond hunger,
what has been prepared to the singing
of those who cannot hear your music,
by those now in unwakeable sleep,
through your mother’s mother’s hope,
through the instinct to reach across a time
& say You are here.
Is it possible to ever be alone?
These are some of the sketches and drawings I explored for this illustration and the process when creating the final composition and color.