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Ode to Tortilla
Oh sage from the south,
I feel your oneness.
Know you sustain life in a place
and people in touch with the land.
You have circularity
like the sun as you
bind generations.
Our northern imitations
are crude and cold.
As distant from you as
the rough stubble of corn stalks,
unshaven whiskers after harvest,
are to tiny corn starts pushing
through moist earth, in search of sun.
Our tortillas choke in
plastic, in big box stores.
In the south you radiate with a
handmade kiss of sustenance.
Maize, finely ground,
soft and thin, speaks
simplicity.
Tells us
of peace
that comes
from the gentle
touch of the earth.
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