you know the caldo is good when mami makes it in 90 degree heat, 

kitchen burning up like an overused lightbulb, 

cutting board melting completely off the counter,

the scene looking straight out of a salvador dali painting 

by the stove is mami-

the same mujer that doesn’t cough when heating up her chiles-

looking serene and languidly stirring with her ladle 

i wish she knew how pretty she is 

with her unruly curls escaping the grasp of her bun 

with her freckles on the left part of her upper lip 

with her stretch marks slyly poking out of her shorts 

with her eyes that have seen lifetimes before mine, 

mami is the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen 

i take a sinisterly scalding spoonful to my lips, 

steam fogging my glasses so i can’t see  

yet i see her, completely, wholly 

i see every pain, 

every sacrifice, 

every gray hair, 

every burden my mami has carried on her calloused hands 

and my tastebuds soar, 

each bite better than the next,

wiping off la grasa from my chin 

you know the caldo is good when mami makes it