by Amanda Rosas
Hominy is Dad standing in the kitchen,
steam beginning to brim over his glasses
as he pours sliced calabacita into an hoya
already simmering a pork caldo.
Hominy is white, is yellow, is eaten out of
brown Dad hands from the can as if he
were still that young varón working
the graveyard shift at the Corpus refinery,
the perfume of lava soap rising from the
oil left over in his palm taken up to his mouth.
Hominy is a bowl of otoño and dad sipping tuetano
out of the soup bone’s soul, its animal flavor,
the decadent essence of life.
Hominy is the bullet hole in the heart,
where dad is simmering you a soup.
In the flesh, still alive.
(Scroll down to hear Amanda recite her poem)
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