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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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