This One Bowl (A Zuihitsu)

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This One Bowl (A Zuihitsu)

This is the beginning of sadness                                     (B.Collins)
This one bowl
Home to small bites
Saltless stews
And purees of the oldest kind

It is the new black
For the silver streaked
Shriveled and parched
Like summer hot dogs
Left out to cool in picnic trays

Last night
In honor of me
A liquefying celebration
Three faces
India, Negra, Española
Busied themselves
One recipe, one whisk
One warm marble cake
Tossed into a fire of spinning blades.
Chopped
Churned
Obliterated
Poured and pooled
Higher
Smoother
Slower

This is the beginning of sadness                                    (B. Collins)
This one bowl
Home to the empanada porridge
The red bean paste
The anonymous meatless mush
Now pushed under
A three whiskered chin.


© Rebeca Lois Lucret. Published by permission in Centro Voices on 24 April 2015.

Centro Voices (ISSN: 2379-3864).
The views expressed here are those of the author and not necessarily those of Centro Voices, the Center for Puerto Rican Studies or Hunter College, CUNY.