the Nahuatl gave us the name, Chilaquiles
for red chiles and green expectation
served on corn tortillas,
the most colorful of breakfasts
to break a fast after a fretful sleep—
in a new city, an enticement in visual delight
crema y queso fresco this whiteness
topped with avocados and cilantro
and salsa verde, the color
of fertility and prosperity,
but for me the unexpected savor
was an unpacked confetti
of emotions, after all, this was
my very first breakfast
made from my mother’s hands
hands that hadn’t touched me
since I was five years old
when I was seized from her care,
and now, this breakfast of chilaquiles,
a rainbow of color, the day after I met her
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 2.
Amelia Díaz Ettinger is a BIPOC poet and writer, she has three full-length poetry books and two poetry chapbooks. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in literary journals and anthologies. She has an MFA in creative writing from Eastern Oregon University. Presently, she and her partner reside in Summerville, Oregon with two dogs, one cat, and way too many chickens.
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