By Michele Rene
By Michele Rene

By Boris Salvador Ingles

i sit in this dive
on the westside
of los angeles

order a plate
of huevo estrellado
w/a side of casamiento

for a moment i’m home
back homebarefoot in la colonia
de santa tecla

listening to mama’s
humming voice
loot riches
from the morning sun

a melody of tenderness
a ceremony of senses

i sit at the table
saucer steaming
like fire simmering
on hill

yolk seeping out
running slowly
i use a warm
rolled-up flour tortilla
like an archeologist
discovering marrow
in the old country

it’s the right amount
of dark-brown
white
& yellow

the right amount
of soft
grainy-char
on the palate

the scent would linger
in the kitchen
snaking its way
throughout each room
finally settling in
my belly

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