Making Enchiladas
Linda Rodriguez
We set up an assembly line.
I heat the tortillas in manteca
after Crystal dips them in chile ancho
and drains them. Niles carries full plates
of hot tortillas to his father,
who rolls them around spoonfuls of filling.
When we’ve finished the hot, greasy work,
I pour the last of the sauce over neat rows
of stuffed tortillas, sprinkle them with cheese,
clean the stove and counters.
The kids help their father rinse plates and pans.
They don’t know this is the last time.You can read the rest of the poem here.
I've written many poems that this one reminds me of, poems that are basically a recounting of the details of a family moment, but as I looked through them, they all seemed too intimate to share here. I name everyone (as Linda Rodriguez does in this poem), for one thing. (I don't know if these are really Linda Rodriguez's children's names or if this is a fictional story.) They are some of my favorite poems to write and reread because they bring back moments better than a photo. A photo just gives you how things looked; a poem also includes how things sounded and smelled and how I felt about it all.
Even though I eventually chose not to share any of those poems, I did find one about a family story. My children aren't in it because they weren't born yet.
Cow
Our first week back from Haiti in 1994
We were driving down US 68
In a borrowed car,
A hulking American-made one from the seventies.
We crested a hill lined with white fences
And there was a cow in the middle of the road.
It stared at us impassively.
We hit it and it toppled over
In slow motion
And then got up again
Only to be hit by the next car
And this time it stayed down.
As we drove on to find a phone
We thought of Haiti.
Hit an animal there
And angry people would appear
Demanding compensation
Maybe even throwing rocks at your car.
Pigs, goats, chickens wander the road
Seemingly ownerless
But suddenly valuable
In the event of their death.
How much, we wondered,
For a grain-fed American cow?
We called the police
And then returned to the scene of our crime
And watched, amazed, as justice took its course.
A policeman filled out a report
On the car behind ours, which was totaled.
Farm workers looked methodically
For the hole in the fence.
The farmer came over
And apologized to us.
Apologized to us?
We stared at him in disbelief,
But he was already off,
Making arrangements to butcher the dead beast.
This was over, and we were free to leave,
Bovine murderers that we were,
Scot-free, without even a dent in our borrowed car.
We drove away, feeling faintly guilty
And confused by the way things work.
Who's to blame? Who's innocent?
What's the value of a fat animal
Standing on a smooth American road at twilight
Compared with a scrawny one
On a dirt road in Haiti?
Why did the phone work the first time
And the police come right away?
Why did no money change hands?
And what was to become of a ton of beef?
Good thing America has big freezers
And plenty of electricity.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Today's line for the Progressive Poem is here.
April
1 Matt @ Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme
2 Kat @ Kathryn Apel
3 Kimberly @ KimberlyHutmacherWrites
4 Jone @ DeoWriter
5 Linda @ TeacherDance
6 Tara @ Going to Walden
7 Ruth @ thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown
8 Mary Lee @ A Year of Reading
9 Rebecca @ Rebecca Herzog
10 Janet F. @ Live Your Poem
11 Dani @ Doing the Work that Matters
12 Margaret @ Reflections on the Teche
13 Doraine @ Dori Reads
14 Christie @ Wondering and Wandering
15 Robyn @ Life on the Deckle Edge
16 Carol @ Beyond LiteracyLink
17 Amy @ The Poem Farm
18 Linda @ A Word Edgewise
19 Heidi @ my juicy little universe
20 Buffy @ Buffy's Blog
21 Michelle @ Michelle Kogan
22 Catherine @ Reading to the Core
23 Penny @ a penny and her jots
24 Tabatha @ The Opposite of Indifference
25 Jan @ Bookseestudio
26 Linda @ Write Time
27 Sheila @ Sheila Renfro
28 Liz @ Elizabeth Steinglass
29 Irene @ Live Your Poem
30 Donna @ Mainely Write
Today's Poetry Friday roundup is here.
For NPM this year, I'm posting links I have open on my desktop, so I can finally close them and start collecting way too many links again. Here are this week's posts:
On Saturday I posted a Pablo Neruda poem called "Guilty"
On Sunday I contributed my line to the Progressive Poem.
On Monday I shared "The Lost Art of Letter-Writing," by Eaven Boland.
On Tuesday I shared some poems about the color blue, inspired by a link from Tabatha's blog.
On Wednesday I shared some poems about moms and sons, one by someone else and one by me.
On Thursday I shared a Langston Hughes poem.
Today's Poetry Friday roundup is here.
For NPM this year, I'm posting links I have open on my desktop, so I can finally close them and start collecting way too many links again. Here are this week's posts:
On Saturday I posted a Pablo Neruda poem called "Guilty"
On Sunday I contributed my line to the Progressive Poem.
On Monday I shared "The Lost Art of Letter-Writing," by Eaven Boland.
On Tuesday I shared some poems about the color blue, inspired by a link from Tabatha's blog.
On Wednesday I shared some poems about moms and sons, one by someone else and one by me.
On Thursday I shared a Langston Hughes poem.
14 comments:
Dear Ruth - I think there is great power in the specificity of naming names and telling details of actual experiences as you have done here. I guess it's a "style" of poetry, whereas someone else's style -- say Mary Oliver-- is more general and from the collective consciousness of wisdom. Each kind of poem is valuable. We want our readers to be able to find themselves in our poems, which is why, I think, I have sometimes shied away from the actual particulars... but each time I do that, it's not telling my truth, which is the point of it all, I think. There is also the consideration of loved ones we may be "outing" in a poem... I know I have not sought an audience for many necessary poems I've written because I don't want to hurt those people. My "truth" is not worth that. Anyhow, all this to say: there are many considerations, and I appreciate your words, and the cow poem is powerful. xo
"Making Enchiladas" is a great title, in particular because it seems so innocuous and homely, in contrast to the rending of the home that we (eventually) see coming. I have never written a poem in that style, naming names and describing a scene. Sounds like a nice thing to try (which I would probably not share). Glad you didn't get hurt re: the cow; sorry that the cow didn't survive her outing!
I enjoyed Making Enchiladas and had to go and read the rest of it. Then I went to my library website to see what they might have of Linda Rodriguez'. Eventually I made it back here to read your poem. Both are a gift. what I love most about them is that they tell a story.
I am writing more personal poems this month, but I know that I've written ones I wouldn't share. They are for me, just as you wrote for you. I don't know why that is the 'last time' in "Making Enchiladas" but it reminds me of a new picture book out this year titled "The Bell Rang" about a slave family who didn't know that the son was going to flee that night. The heartbreak is that they would never know what happened to him, only that he was gone. I liked your poem about the cow, a wakeup to you of course, but also to everyone that differences arise between countries we might never imagine. Thanks, Ruth, you always give us much to ponder.
"Making Enchiladas" packs such a punch. It's riveting in its detail, but also in what it leaves unsaid, to the reader's imagination. In this instance, like Irene noted, I think the specificity of names adds to the impact. I haven't written so specifically about my family and its moments, but you have me considering doing so, even if just for myself. Your Cow poem is also powerful and leaves the reader with thoughts stirred.
Ruth, I love both poems. I love the personal stories that each poem portrays. They touch the heart and also make the reader think and imagine.
You ponder big truths in your poem...
"Making Enchiladas" is heartbreaking in its veil of normalcy, and your cow poem is so poignant in different ways (this coming from a vegetarian!). I'm sure our dear friends who have spent much of their lives in Kenya would relate to the disparities you all are sensitive to, and that we very comfortable full-time Americans can easily forget. Thanks for sharing both of these!
Oh, my goodness. Making Enchiladas is so cozy but then...you know there is a next moment. Wow. Thank you for sharing that. I think students would really like this one. I think it would help process feelings over the "the last" of something....and your poem is magnetic. I love the perspective that you bring to an American incident....I hope you write more like this. I'd like to read them.
I love specific detailed poems like these as well, Ruth. They hold so much power... like an invitation to read a forbidden diary so that we can discover for ourselves, no, we're not alone. You write so beautifully!
Oof. So many bulging tabs of goodness, and I remain fascinated by the idea of just letting them accumulate, tab on tab on tab, enough for a month?! Your cow poem is full of perspective, of information, of feeling.
Ooh, did I comment?
Yes! :-)
While I liked "Making Enchiladas" I loved your "Cow" poem. Your voice is so matter of fact if feels as if it just happened, thanks Ruth!
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