The Molcajete
J
Juan Olivarez
0
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In the molcajete of volcanic stone,
You pound away as if grinding bones.
Cumin, black pepper, and a garlic clove,
Something special for your love.
Thick basalt, on three little legs,
Crushing peppers for the morning eggs.
The little giant with a single hand,
The mexican housewife's treasured friend.
9/9/12
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