- Vol. 04
- Chapter 11
That's right. In the heat of the night mas o menos you with your gold teeth in your pocket this Mezcal drink stinking on your hot breath you come back and kick me for Tamales waking me from sleep foot in my bony hip, hips that carried your sons, angry warrior.
There is earth-taste in my mouth from where you kissed me but like with Mezcal you have harvested me; cut off my roots and leaves to reveal my heart and then have had it cooked in a pit oven for three days – all smoky – until I am smashed with red banana pineapple and sugar; sweetness all over again. I love love love you for that.
Then I am left left left to ferment in this place. I can tell you, whoever eats this worm will have some bad fortune, bad omens, bad things.
In the blue of dawn you will ride away while I pretend to sleep under my grandmother's lace gown; colder than deep water. Grandma, hear me... Re-sew my heart with fine bone needles so I grow strong and wish him never to return.