Those Early Attempts At a Mexican Food

those early attempts at a Mexican food no store bought cardboard taco shells she had to prepare her own the appearance of the tortilla press the arrival of the tortilla holder became a beginning to a menagerie of new tools experiments with red and green chili she chose to pursue red, much spicier and as with her marinara ages well in the freezer as i have well noticed sitting at the table each addition of graying, each wrinkle an age spot upon alabaster hands across that table, my love has only deepened having stolen more than my heart she had captivated the soul therein she prefers beef to pork altho her lemon-pepper pork roast is heavenly marinated in lemons from the tree she chose and her secret assembly of spices and pepper taco meat is seasoned to perfection she shreds and marinates the beef a lecture on judicious use of cheaper roasts her own hand made pico de gallo store-bought never, revealing the craft chopping onions with nary a tear the utensils began accruing setting up the kitchen one could see Mexico it is the same for a poem lines that need work, crafting language a process ensuring a satisfactory execution it is a labor of love a dedication to the creativity you possess rewarding the gift with unceasing labor how well i remember the decision Mexican rice simply fails the assault Spanish rice, diced tomatoes, basil. onion garlic was thrown in to mix with vermicelli changing at times with yellow rice, coloring topped with more diced tomatoes, cilantro a light coloring shredded cheese sometimes an interplay of white and yellow it is a poem that grows in language and so you see when i say each bite a sonnet, each dish is part of my best-loved poems i am talking about the presentation the red chili burro smothered in sauce upon a bed of green shredded lettuce hemmed in by diced tomatoes, black olives topped by shredded white and yellow cheese with dollops of sour cream and avocado another plate of quesadillas filled with green chilis, green olives, cheese one never knew which cheese she would choose Fresco, Oaxaca, Manchego, Asadero my yellow, white American disappeared with marriage tacos stuffed with spicy shredded beef not like restaurant style an exhilarating ride thru spice and herb spilling out shredded lettuce, tomatoes, cheese homemade salsa to top it all it is a gastronomical ****** i never achieved with any poet and altho the children are gone one would think meals would be simpler her craft is never to be denied as i have said a thousand times my only goal is to encourage hers and hers is the magic upon the table the sorceress who loves me is enough in my life once i showed up wearing a sombrero she looked at me across from the kitchen do i make faces at you when writing, she said to displease a chef is folly, never again did the sombrero appear but the tongue of love did become whispers arrows of adoration seeking her with serious intent taking her hand, locking into eyes, a ship in harbor sus ojos son pajaros, de quien roban mi pensamientos, mi aliento, mi corazon en tus brazos el cielo encontre your eyes are birds who steal my thoughts my breath, my heart in your arms, i have found heaven if love in you does not evoke another language you have failed to explore its possible depths you have failed the language love bears yet the bigger sin in all of this is to miss the poetry that fills our lives the poetry that requires nary a word to behold only an eye for the beauty that envelopes existence Abilene 3/3/19 Kismet