Tecolotes Taqueria

in Poetry
By Karla Cordero

Taqueria1The days I get gold stickers on my math homework Abuela’s face celebrates like Easter. She smiles as if she saw Jesus resurrect in the flesh.

She calls me her pocket Einstein.

Takes me to the city for tacos rewarding me for my shiny brain. We travel with the legs God gave us, holding each other’s hands like crazy glue had kissed our palms. Side-by-side, she whistles an Aztec lullaby through stained teeth. Her mouth orchestras a chapter in history.

The cucarachas dance Macarena to Abuela’s beat along the earthquake cracks of tar-paved calle.

My tiny nose plays compass makes my tongue salivate a map to Tecolotes Taqueria.

Abuela points her wrinkled index toward maiz tortillas born from the hands of fragile brown women behind the counter.

Pico de gallo decorates our plates like welcome home confetti. And we feast.

We make the flies jealous.


Read about Karla Cordero.

Photo credit: Mark Collins via a Creative Commons license.