I’m a 99 cent burrito and a palm-sized-soft corn tortilla taco.
But I wonder when the first taco got fried.
I can hear mi Abuelita flattening maize in palm-sized-soft circles at dawn.
I used to proudly tell her, everybody knows burritos were invented in Texas.
I want her to massage my feet and crack the cold corners of her dead lips,
because I never saw them smile before her last inhale.
I pretend to not know Spanish walking within a body descended from an empire’s lust,
believing in a God that was fed during times of stomachs rumbling louder than traditions voice,
looking at each other through Illuminati named races,
only after the Other was erased as if their perfect All Mighty would ever love His children in
their own way,
when you label people by type,
we will first acknowledge one another by difference.
I feel anti-social, thinking my stuttering will resurface with anxious tsunamis covering skin and mouth,
feeling like a stupid ignorant immigrant on the defense for his pride.
I train childish lips to sound assimilated within any category,
since my ancestors spoke with extinct tongues
proud of their talent for chameleon lips forming within any foreign mold.
I worry my children will never know how to roll their R’s,
since I have little passion to pass on a heritage created from the ruins of Tenochitlan,
my mother chose to squeeze in a coyote to color my tongue red blue and white,
so I would not feel her shame when asserting herself with an inferior accent
served in chopped sentences.
I cry today as I return to Arteaga, Michoacan,
my grandparents’ house will be quiet at dawn.
I now know Sonorans rolled the first flour tortilla, bean, cheese meal.
I can see mi Abuelita’s coffin, its cement lid is moving to the side,
she rises to tell me she was right about the burrito and smiles, rubbing my toes when I was six.
I dream for groups to never forget they can become masses.
I try to un-crunch the Taco Bell Taco every day, but hunger distracts my progress during days of voluntary indentured servitude to a mainstream acceptable lifestyle.
I hope someone helps salsa maintain its history.
I’m a 99 cent burrito and palm-sized-soft corn tortilla taco.
E. R. Sanchez