Mamay, here you are soaking the soft rice
And wrapping them in the leaves tender, darkened
Darkened by the tiniest flame that you whispered to.
The bundles are dreams of shapes on top of each other.
Listen, the water is graying and catching their breath.
The heat assumes your wisdom and no one else
Among the kin takes your ember away from the hearth.
They wrinkle as they are undressed.
The whole cloth should go as one but a gossip
Passiona has cloaked your mind for eternity.
Here they lie below your wise gaze.
There are secrets that will soon
Redden them: the sweetness of coconut meat
And the milk summoned by repeated mashing.
Reveal the field of these delicacies.
The scent is distant and unfamiliar.
It is as if you are made to suffer and catch
That which is fleeting, yet you put them
In your mouth and the tongue swirls
Around years of hidden strength.
The feast opens up and begins.
