by Cathy Lopez Cathy Lopez

Cathy Lopez received her MFA in creative writing from University of Texas-Pan American, has been published in BorderSenses, co-founded and edits Devilfish Review, teaches freshman composition, and tweets, tumbls and blogs with abandon. And yet she is rubbish at writing short bios.

Who knew joy
could be wrapped
in a corn husk?
That Sunday mornings should taste
like masa
and chile
and grease?

My heart knew, long before my head.

Bake them until they are crispy,
just around the edges.
Green salsa, the one they give in the little cups,
or tied up in a baggy.
My aunt likes them with Karo syrup.
Someone, I forget who, uses ketchup.
Always with coffee.

We had to teach my cousin's northern wife
how to eat them.
Don't squeeze
but unwrap it,
like a present.

It seemed strange not to know,
until I moved up north.
Not a proper Sunday in two years.
Now my head knows,
my heart breaks,
and my stomach mourns.

What do you think? Please send us your comments, including the name of the work you are commenting on.
Permalink to the Amarillo Bay issue containing this work.