The clattering of hielo melting before

La soda is poured in a glass of ten pesos

The exchange of chismes, laughter, and other chirinola

Abuelita’s pat on my back as she passes by

The wise carrier of our cultura

An aluminum tabletop with saleros and pipping pots of

Chile con asadero in its sueresal, and watery mashed frijoles

The steaming homemade tortillas fresh off the comal

Disappearing like minutes off a dying clock

Bare feet caressing the dirt floor

Regado before making dinner

Curtains that smell like the seventies,

Or perhaps because they’re of terlenga

Black and white portraits todos asoleados

But forever there

Someone yells “adelante!”

The vecino marches in

Cuentos that reminisce the younger past of el rancho

VIP on Abuelo’s lap

Feet dangling, trenzas as long as your arm, ruffled peasant tops

The cheerful embroidery that identify

So heavy, so warm, so comforting

Cobijas stitched with history and love

Pass the tortilla, scoop the frijoles

The spoon, fork, knife, and bread

Eating until the plate is new

No time outs, only chancladas

I am not yelling

That’s just how I talk

I’m not forgetting

I’m just taking a walk.

-Nayla Carrasco