Day 21: Cocina

My lover and I are in the cocina with spices
While outside rain patters on
tin roofs and Subaru Outbacks

The soundtrack of our city

Seattle does not speak Spanglish
It is whiter than the tortilla he pulls
from the Mission package
to set on a pizza stone for flaming

These are when our embers were still lit and ignited
Fingers stained and dripping from tobasco and tomatoes
We stuffed our comfortable mouths as we
picnicked under covers
Licking leftovers from our lips
Too careless to turn down the heat

That was a year ago
I’m in a new city now
still learning to temper my taste buds
with avocado and cuervo

Learning how to tap uncapped Cayenne
instead of dousing with flame
Learning how to not down shots
until you’re a pile of Pico in a stranger's arms

Tasting it on my tongue a breath longer
Reverting back to recipes when needed
For these are just stories of the past too

Tasting onions and peppers cooked careful
Not charred until the smoke
heavy and hazed
sticks in your lungs for a whole year

I’ve now found the tablespoon
The glass measured, not guessed

I am not a woman of methodology
But I do believe that patterns can be broken
Recipes altered
And new afternoons birthed from the flame
of a single and subtle spark.