it always starts with the fire on high
& simmers in a low flame

her hands wrinkled & sun kissed, her apron faded, clean & pressed
as she peels the yuca & plátanos for our Sunday backyard guisa’o

this, our ancestral stew, the one that first yells out loud as it sears
and scorches meats, chicken, and pork, cooked with the fire on high

an ancestral stew that will soon force things into a slow simmer
for hours over a low, patient heat for our Sunday backyard guisa’o

while we play dominos and we salsa, gossiping and drinking up all
the neighborhood chismes and beer and being too loud, way too loud

while she chucked the corn husks for pork tamales and forcing kernels
down her metal grinder while I help mash endless mounds of garlic

later, we’ll add bay leaves, fresh oregano, comino and other herbs
plus a generous squeeze of naranja agria for a perfect acid balance

while we play dominos and we salsa, gossiping and drinking up all
the neighborhood chismes and beer and being too loud, way too loud

while she makes a feast, a bounty of flavors, all seared and browned
all cooked with the fire on high and a low patient heat, this Sunday guisa’o

the one that makes our ancestors proud