Sunday, December 29, 2013

when old friends call

When old friends call
a poem

Thicker than Lupe’s colada morada
and warm, sweet
is our friendship—
deeper than blood—
like family on el dia de los muertos

I was a new mother
craving your empanadas
stuffed with tasty meat
and you smiled,
playing the cook,
holding the new life
to give me rest,
sharing the shadow side
of joy
and Joy’s absence,
a home in the midst of exile.

Let us share again
some llapingachos, ceviche y mote.
Seeing you calls for a feast
or at least a kettle of locro or a platter of fritada.
You are my big sister,
you wrapped candied almonds
in small sachets
on my wedding day,
tying them with shiny ribbon.

I grew up with you,
gracious.
We met today with
ice pellets coating the walk
in Chicago
but seeing you at our table
I could only think of
childhood with you in Quito
and nourishment,
hearty and festive.





(by Troy Cady
for Heather and
her big sis Katalina)












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