Poem: Frijoles de la Olla by Melody Rose Serra
Frijoles de la olla
Ceramic pot, the color of terracotta
neatly placed on the counter
Your workspace, like an artist’s studio
The kitchen where you find refuge from a long day’s work
where your hands follow a sort of intuition
No recipe to follow
But generations of love and friendship
They say food brings people together
Family, both by blood and chosen
Gathered ‘round your table
on a random Tuesday, with no special significance at all
You start to sort through the beans
Somehow you can tell which are bruised
and which will go in the pot
Like watching a basket maker choose which tree will make the most lovely basket
What foresight
The water runs as you rinse the beans
With tenderness, I hear you begin to hum to the tune of “si nos dejan”
The sound of the gas stove, like the strings coming in for the first time in a symphony
Soft, steady, gentle
Beans go in
Water, broth
Onions
A fragrant blend of spices with no labels
Watching your hands, dance-like movements
A choreography you know so well
You lean over and tell me “Mija, el secreto to any delicious recipe is love.”