Amarillo Bay presents Visiting Tia by Rebecca Balcárcel

Visiting Tia
by Rebecca Balcárcel

Where I come from, groups of furniture are "suites,"
every outfit has its own set of shoes,
but at the house of my tia,
we wipe our hands on mismatched dish-towels,
flatten balls of harina into tortillas.

All morning, I am part of
the warm kitchen, bubbling frijoles,
hot gorditas in lidded baskets.
I become the "q" in Bequi, my nickname,
learning the art of tomato-seasoned rice.

Wearing Tia's apron, I almost fit.
My halting steps in the new language
relax to a saunter.
When I trip over verb endings,
Tia picks me up.

Uncles and cousins ramble in for lunch.
We crowd ten around a table
for six - lap children, folding chairs.
And after marimbas, it's Pedro Infante
rolling out songs I don't know how to dance to.

Please send us your comments, including the name of the work you are commenting on.