The Taqueria (El Molino) - Poem by Cosi Celeste
You can taste the cornmeal scent in the air.
Women move back and forth,
their hair in a tight bun,
laughing about last night.
Men shuffle in from the cold,
heads dug deep into the collar of their shirts.
A faint smell of cigarettes and alcohol
residue from last night’s revelry.
Some order by the pound,
others only a taco or two.
The hot salsa sears their mouths and nostrils.
It’s not just about the food.
It’s about the way they know your name,
and what you want.
It’s about waking the kids up early,
hair sticking up, as they walk into the store.
It’s about the smiles that say hello
and the woman at register one.
When you walk out
you feel better than when you walked in.
You're connected to traditions hundreds of years old.
Suddenly you’re not alone.
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