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Saturday, November 3, 2012

Quemando Tortillas


“Quemando Tortillas”

Corazón, no esperes tortillas
recién hechas a mano, redondas
y perfectas como la cara de la luna
las mías, si algún día llego a hacerlas
saldrán cuadradas como hojas de papel

dices tú que en otros tiempos
las mujeres enamoraban con el sudor
el calor y la energía de sus manos
tantas gotas de deseo
envueltas en masa de maíz

de niña me gustaba hacer tortillas
de tierra, me gustaba lo húmedo del olor
y lo negro que se me metía bajo las uñas
mi cocina ideal era un mundo sin paredes
un lugar entre plantas y hierbas, bajo un cielo
que parecía espejo del mar

ahora de mujer
quiero darte mi esencia de comer
que me sientas viva en tu boca

pero la idea de hacer tortillas a mano
¡me choca! aburrida quemaría
una tras otra
una tras otra

lo que quiero es entregarme entera
caminar descalza
bailar bajo un cielo
chorreado de estrellas

en vez de tortillas
haré poema tras poema
recién hechos a mano de mujer
calientitos y blanditos
color chichiltic
sabor a mango
tamaño a luna entera
redondos y perfectos
como la espiral
de tu ombligo

la palabra, como el maíz, mi amor
también es indígena

 ---------
A sensual twist on making tortillas, Olga Garcia Echeverria, grips your imagination and body as this poem unfolds with the rhythm of a wave from your tongue.
Raised in East Los Angeles, she gathers the Spanish of her roots as she launches poems into the sky like explosions, love notes with tastes of mango, shaped like a lovers belly button.
My mind allows me to film her walking through beach sands as poetry becomes love making, food tasting. The use of words triggers feelings synchronized, like ancient memories, allowing my body to feel the sweat of my lover, the energy of her hands on me, like kneading masa.
There is also resistance in her poem, out of boredom she refuses to make tortillas, one after the other, for she would rather give herself openly into the sheets of paper. Tangible in other ways.

1 comment:

  1. I want to start off by saying that I REALLY enjoyed this poem. In its opening stanza I interpreted tortillas to be representative of a lover, and thought the artist was advising her readers to embrace their lovers imperfections...until she mentioned that her tortillas would be square like paper; which could mean that she admires intellect more than vanity in her partners (I might be stretching it). Back to the tortillas though, she finds the practice of making them boring and would rather dance under the stars and use her hands to craft a different good. This poem itself is an example of her putting her hands to use to create something that reflects her culture through language rather than through cooking. As an educated women she is taking herself out of the stereotypical space reserved for Latinas (the kitchen) and placing herself in a limitless world of academia where there are no walls to serve as barriers. Something that strikes me is that I can feel, hear, taste, see, and smell the image she is creating through her writing.

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