Lamento de la Olla
I have been sitting on these steps for hours, but no one has lifted my lid, not even once. No one has said to my maker, “How many pesos for that one?” or “Oh, this is exactly the right color for my cocina!” or “My daughter has been looking for an olla just like that.”
Nobody looks at me. They have eyes only for the dulces, the frambuesas, the gorditas that the women and children are selling from little tables set up in the streets.
Who cares about a cooking pot? Who cooks at home anymore? Why even bother to have a cocina? You can get whatever you want for breakfast or lunch or supper on the street.
I may sit here forever—or until someone accidentally knocks me down the steps and I shatter into ten thousand pieces.
redolent of cebollas—
quick, hand me a spoon!
Text and photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Photo: Mercado, Zacatecas, México
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