9am.
my marmalade patterned hair
wrap is crooked. eyes
crusted by dreams I have yet
to leave. Fingers fumble and then
slide past the glass door
where I am supposed to be ready for another
seven hour shift. a periwinkle sun
crawls through the familiar restaurant windows.
My thoughts thicken –
–and my fingers glaze over the clock like
Rosemary simple syrup. The largest project
on the prep list. Grab a 22 quart and a pot.
Don’t forget to date it. First you must add in
two parts sugar to one part water – I think
of when my two parents
crossed from Guadalajara to add one part
me. One part daughter, two parts mexican
-american. Pour in the decrepit apartments. The
nights spent sleeping on the floor, mom and you wrapped
on the hard carpet together. Sugar dusted Spanish
whispers in the dark. You will measure
your worth against the white kids
with blow up water slides and parents
that can make doctors appointments
without your help. A sprig of rosemary
from your mothers garden. Pick them
from any of the evenings of hours
she spent teaching you
their true names. Diente de Lion.
Madre de Suegra.
Cempasúchil.
– Make sure you stir hard enough.
The sugar must get properly incorporated.